


A Study in Choices and Second Chances

by queerofthedagger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of Side-Characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't copy to another site, Epistolary Elements, Fluff, Happy Ending, It's a DH AU so idk what to tell you, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Mutual Pining, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Regulus Black/Barty Crouch Jr., Redemption, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black-centric, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 90,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofthedagger/pseuds/queerofthedagger
Summary: When Sirius runs away in 1976, Regulus starts writing him letters he never intends to send. They're simply a way to talk about all the things he can't say out loud to anyone - a chronicle of his descent into the Death Eaters, and the eventual realisation that he made all the wrong choices.In 1997, Harry is searching for the Locket-Horcrux at Grimmauld Place. Instead, he finds a stack of yellowed parchment that not only tells a tale that's more captivating than it has any right to, but might also hold the key to information on the remaining Horcruxes. Regulus Black installed a failsafe.Though neither Regulus, nor Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius expected the result of the ritual to be quite this literal. With an Ex-Death Eater who was assumed to be dead in their midst, the Horcrux-hunt goes a bit differently. Regulus is mostly conflicted if his unexpected second chance is really worth all the trouble his company keeps putting him in.Spoiler: It is. He just likes to complain.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Harry Potter
Comments: 244
Kudos: 1716
Collections: Regulus Black Fest 2020





	1. Prologue: What can I keep for myself if I tell you my hell?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a DH AU and while it does follow Canon events, it's also very character- and relationship focused. I didn't take any direct text from the book, and some things that happen in Canon are only mentioned, skimmed over, missing completely or got changed. From Chapter 2 onwards, it's only Regulus' POV.
> 
> If you're looking for a fic that is basically Deathly Hallows but from Regulus' perspective, this is not it. If you're looking for a brand-new plot, it isn't either.
> 
> The story starts shortly after Bill and Fleur's wedding, and everything happened as it did in Canon, except for Sirius' death. There's no great explanation for it except for my refusal to accept it. With Sirius still alive, he's the Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place. 
> 
> Due to the length and my own, poor time-management, this is not beta-read. If you find SpaG-mistakes, I'm happy to have them pointed out kindly. 
> 
> There are some brief mentions of flashbacks here to Canon-events, but no full-blown panic attacks. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this for the Regulus-fest - I incidentally wanted to claim a prompt, but then this idea came to me and wouldn't let me rest. Which is how I ended up with this monster of a fic, and I'm pretty proud of how it turned out ~~despite the desperation that it caused me along the way!~~ I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Many thanks go to L., K., and A. for cheering me on, brainstorming, and listening to my whining. I'm not sure I would've made it without you.
> 
> Please do not repost my work anywhere or list it on goodreads (or similar sites).

_London, 23/07/1976_

_~~Dear~~ _ _Sirius,_

_I don’t know why I’m writing this, why I’m writing to you. It’s not like I’m going to send this; like I’m going to tell you just how horrible and lost and lonely I feel, how furious I am with you, ~~how incredibly scared I am.~~_

_You left. You just left, and abandoned me here in this dark, dreary house, alone with them. I mean, I knew that I don’t matter to you anymore, but I still didn’t think you’d go this far. _

_I bet you’ve run off to Potter, haven’t you? Are you going to pretend now that you’ve never been a part of this family? Do you think you can free yourself of all this, leave it behind like your school-uniform of the last year? Do you think that this is all just another joke, another prank you can pull and laugh about with your friends, absolutely inconsiderate of the consequences for others, as you always are? ~~Do you think that they would’ve let you go, if not for me taking your place?~~_

_Merlin, but you’re so selfish, it’s a miracle to me how you don’t realise this. You walk around all high and mighty, self-righteous and proud and so disgustingly convinced that you’re above everything else, that the world has to twist and turn just to fit your personal needs._

_What do you think happened to me when mother and father noticed you were gone? What do you think is going to happen to me now? ~~Why didn’t you take me with you?~~_

_And I know that you would have never been happy here, that they would have destroyed you until there was nothing left of you, and that the only way for you to not only survive but to be happy, is that I take your place. As the heir, as the high hopes of the family, ~~as the servant of the Dark Lord.~~_

_I know that I couldn’t have gone with you; I knew that this day would come, sooner or later, that I actively pushed you away so that for once, you wouldn’t have to protect me._

_I didn’t know that it would still hurt so much. That I would still be so, so furious because you didn’t even say goodbye, you’re probably never going to know any of this, you’re never going to realise how blind and stupid and selfish and narcissistic and just bloody cruel you were._

_You’ve always called me soft, a pushover, always took the blame for me even though I never asked you to. And maybe you’re right – not only maybe, you’re most definitely right. But you could never just accept me the way I am, couldn’t acknowledge that I’m different than you but not worse, that I didn’t love you less. ~~That I would do anything for you.~~_

_Maybe I should send this letter, after all. One final goodbye to the brother who has hated me for six years now; but I doubt that you’d read it, anyway._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 30/07/1976_

_Sirius,_

_Mother burned you from the family-tree, but Arcturus refuses to officially disown you. I think the only person who would throw a bigger fit than mother has, if they knew, is you. You two always were scarily similar._

_I don’t really know why I’m writing again – I still won’t send this and having letters that even mention your name is a foolish risk; maybe that’s why I do it._

_The house is weird without you. The house has always been weird but it’s… as if it’s darker, emptier, and grimmer than ever before. And at the same time, it feels like something of you still lingers. Your stupid recklessness obviously does if this right here is anything to go by._

_I’m still angry at you, by the way. And to be honest, I hope it stays that way for a long time because it’s much easier to sit through father’s endless speeches on responsibility and honour and duty when I can curse you into the next century within my head._

_Sometimes I wish I was more like you. That I could just tell them how I don’t want to be the heir, the replacement that has only become important because you don’t live up to their expectations._

_You always said that I’m the favourite, the “good son” but even if that’s true, it is still impossible to actually please them._

_Then again, I also understand much better than you why all this is important. The meaning of loyalty and duty, and I wonder how running away has anything to do with courage._

_Cygnus, Druella, and Bellatrix were here, yesterday. Bellatrix is going to marry the coming winter, can you imagine? If I didn’t know Rodolphus, I’d be sorry for him._

_She talked a lot about the Dark Lord. How he’s going to change our world for the better. How his ideas and methods will bring back the glorious days of our society, and how we have the chance to play a part in it._

_I still remember what you told me the summer after your first year at Hogwarts, and all the little mentions and remarks since then. And I don’t even want to start on all the things you’ve said in your screaming matches with mother._

_But at the same time, it’s the truth that our world is changing, faster and faster, and that all our traditions and customs are close to being forbidden and eradicated. I know you believe every word out of Dumbledore’s mouth like it’s gospel but I don’t see why traditions that are harmless should be changed, for people that come from another culture. Why should we eradicate and forget everything that defines us?_

_Seriously (and aren’t I glad that you’re not here to make a stupid pun right now), I’m not sure what to think. But I’m also not sure if I’d want to hear your opinion, so maybe it’s good that you aren’t here anymore._

_Regulus_

* * *

_Hogwarts, 21/09/1976_

_Sirius,_

_You’re still ignoring me whenever you see me. It’s not like you didn’t do this the last few years as well, and I don’t know why I expected you to change now, of all times._

_Maybe I had hoped you would tell me that you didn’t mean to leave me behind. Not that I didn’t know that you’d never do that, but a small part of me apparently had some naivety left._

_It’s not like I need you though._

_Now that I’m officially the heir, the Slytherins respect me even more. Maybe you were wrong, after all. Maybe the pressure and expectations are worth it. Maybe mother and father were right, all this time. Maybe mother is also right when she talks about the brilliance of the Dark Lord, how he already had great visions back when they went to school together. ~~Maybe I can finally do something to make them proud of me.~~_

_Everything that was difficult before is still difficult, of course. But at least now, people don’t dare to mention your name to me any longer, and I can nearly forget all those years you were my brother. Really were my brother, not just someone I shared a name and a holiday-residence with. You know, before you went off to Hogwarts and picked up three strays on the train who made you believe that you hate me as much as you hate our parents. _

_I don’t have friends as you do, I don’t have anywhere to run to. And even if I had, they’d never let both of us go._

_Maybe it’s just easier to convince myself that I want all of this, to just believe that they’re right and leave it at that._

_Maybe it’s just easier to hate you as much as you obviously hate me._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 27/12/1976_

_Sirius,_

_Happy Yule._

_I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised that everything was the same as it is every year… or well, that’s not strictly true. There was a certain lack of shouting and curses involved – we both know I’d be lying if I said there were none, but your absence was definitely notable. You’d probably be proud of that._

_Of course, your name wasn’t mentioned once, nobody wants to draw mothers’ wrath. I still haven’t decided if it was better or worse without you there – and isn’t that a nice summary of my life since you’ve left._

_Bella brought Rodolphus along, and they talked a lot about the Dark Lord again. About all his plans and visions and how powerful he is. It wasn’t anything particularly new, but it confirmed the stories that circulate in Slytherin, and what our parents say about him._

_I know you don’t approve of him but really, for you, anything that isn’t light is automatically evil. I mean, you gave up on me when I wasn’t even 11 because I didn’t have the same ~~courage~~ disregard for my life and well-being as you. _

_The longer I think about it, the more convinced I am that you are wrong. Even if blood is not the most important thing – and I can give you that – the Dark Lord’s agenda is about so much more. About putting an end to the demonization of dark magic, for example. It’s in our nature and yet, the way we’re treated, painted as if we’re the worst thing to happen while it’s a part of our existence, is not right. Adjusting our world for those that have no history with it isn’t right; having to hide our whole lives from Muggles when we’re so clearly superior, gifted with magic as we are, isn’t right._

_Not to mention – Dumbledore has so much influence, and isn’t he doing the same thing the Dark Lord wants to do? Shaping our world into what he thinks is best. It’s just that he’s prohibiting century-old traditions and making a minority out of those of us that don’t fit into his worldview – and we are supposed to just accept this? _

_Why is it okay for you to join a side, but for me, it isn’t? ~~(Because, of course, you’re Sirius and above such things as logic.)~~_

_Regulus_

* * *

_Hogwarts, 23/02/1977_

_Sirius,_

_Happy Birthday to me, I guess. Who would’ve thought that even after five years, being ignored by you on this day still manages to get to me? You didn’t seem to miss me on your birthday, and I sometimes wonder how it’s all so easy for you – to just decide that I’m not worth caring about anymore, to just leave and get yourself a new family._

_~~Don’t you remember how, when we were still children, we used to sneak away when all the guests came and had our own, better party in some hidden part of the house or in the garden? How we promised each other to spend all our birthdays like this, together, and how you said you were always going to be there to save me from the boring adults?~~ _

_And I even get it – I’m just as tired of the constant thinly-veiled insults, accusations, and the never-good-enough-speeches of our parents. But maybe that’s going to be over soon._

_Both, I mean; their disappointment with me, and this feeling that I’m not a part of something like you are._

_In their letter to me today, father wrote that now that I’m 16, ~~I have to~~ I will be allowed to join the Dark Lord’s ranks next summer. It’s an incredible compliment – usually, the Dark Lord doesn’t accept anyone who’s not out of school yet, but Bella put in a good word for me. _

_And I know, I’ve been going back and forth for the last few months about my will to join, but I think I do want to. I think my doubts were always more due to being scared – and didn’t you always say that I should be less of a coward?_

_I also talked with a few of the Slytherins who graduated and already joined, and everybody is saying the same: that he’s more powerful than anyone can imagine, that he’s going to change our world for the better, that being allowed to be a part of this is the highest honour and unlike anything else._

_And while I’m sure that some of it is whitewashed, that it’s not all found-family and glorious victories, it’s true that, to achieve the goals the Dark Lord has, some methods are simply necessary, however uncouth they may appear._

_I just hope that I’ll be able to do what will be expected of me, but as far as I’ve heard, the Dark Lord gives tasks according to strength and talent, so I probably just worry too much. ~~It’s not like I have a choice, anyway; the only alternative would be to run, and I have nowhere to run to. And even if I had, they’d never let both of us go; at least it’s not you who has to join. At least I don’t hate the idea as much as you do.~~_

_I’m sure that it’s going to be even better than I expect it now. I’m sure you’re wrong, Sirius._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 02/07/1977_

_Sirius,_

_Tonight, my initiation will take place. I’m scared. I’m so terribly scared – what if you were right, despite everyone telling me you’re not? What if this is the wrong choice?_

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 03/07/1977_

_Sirius,_

_I did it. I am now a Death Eater, and there’s no going back – not that I want to, of course._

_Admittedly, I was scared out of my mind, but I’m sure I did the right thing. You have no idea how… impressive the Dark Lord is, Sirius. I’ve never met anyone like him, really. Power seems to radiate off of him and he just has… an air about him that immediately lets you know that he’s extraordinary, that you shouldn’t mess with him, that makes everyone in the room automatically pay attention._

_He marks his followers. It’s a secret, a way to call us to him, and I swear to Merlin nothing ever hurt like this, not even mother’s curses or the time in fifth year when I crashed into the Quidditch stands and tore my whole back open._

_It still hurts, to be honest. Whenever I touch my forearm, it burns and feels like the snake is twisting underneath my skin – but it also reminds me that I finally belong somewhere, that I’m part of something bigger now._

_You should have seen how proud mother looked. That tightness to her face she has ever since you’ve left was nearly completely gone, and I swear she attempted a smile._

_The Dark Lord asked about you, by the way. ~~Even he knows that I wasn’t meant to be the one kneeling in front of him, but I’ll prove that I’m worth it more than you ever could.~~ I’m not sure if he really wanted to know what I think about you or merely intended to taunt, but mother told him straight-out that she has only one son – because of course she did, Dark Lord or not. _

_Also, I was never this grateful for the endless hours of Occlumency-lessons we had when we were children. Mind you, I don’t think I could hide something big from him, but as long as these letters and their contents stay mine alone, everything else doesn’t matter much, anyway._

_The ceremony itself was quite simple. I wasn’t the only one who received the mark, but the others were all older than me. His inner circle was in attendance, but most wore masks and as far as I understood, we won’t know the identities of everyone. A security measure, and a smart one at that. Not only does it keep traitors at bay, but the enemy has less of a chance to force information out of someone._

_We all had to kneel (and that was probably the weirdest part – don’t get me wrong, I know what I’m getting myself into, but after years of knowing that a Black doesn’t bow to anyone, this is a bit of an adjustment. A justified one – there’s no doubt that he’s above all of us – but an adjustment nonetheless), and he talked for a long time before we had to come forward one by one to receive the mark._

_It’s ironic, that mothers’ punishments over the years proved to be good for something, at last. I think I was the only one who didn’t scream himself hoarse, and he was very impressed. Of course, all those already marked laughed anyway, but they quickly shut up when he reminded them that Bellatrix is the only one who wasn’t crying when she received hers._

_She always was completely crazy._

_Anyway – at least I was coherent enough to still receive my orders. As long as I’m still at Hogwarts, I don’t have to do much apart from passing on information about possible recruits. I might actually talk to Barty about it, I think he’s interested, and it would be nice to have someone with me who doesn’t like me only for my name. I have to be careful though – if I’m wrong, it could go rather badly considering who his father is._

_I have to go. We’re having a celebratory dinner with the whole family._

_~~I know you would hate me even more if you actually knew, but at least they’re finally proud of me, and I don’t have to worry about making a decision anymore.~~ _

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 20/12/1977_

_Sirius,_

_We get actual training, can you believe it? Some of the older Death Eaters are going to instruct us in duelling and the Dark Arts, seeing that Hogwarts is so utterly lacking in that regard._

_Oh, that reminds me; the curriculum and the way the school is managed is another thing the Dark Lord plans to change, and I’m all for that. It’s a disgrace how Dumbledore favours his own house, vilifies us Slytherins, and basically ignores the rest. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you – with how you got away after nearly killing another student._

_Anyway, I’m going to spend the holidays and the next summer learning even more than what father and Arcturus taught us – skills that will be useful to the Dark Lord’s cause, to our own education and growth, or so they say._

_Next summer, I will also be allowed to finally attend my first, real meeting and join a few of the missions as I’ll finally be 17. Let’s hope that you don’t start something stupid like Auror training or whatever you get into your head. Despite everything, I’m really not keen to fight against you. ~~Not only because you were always unfairly talented with curses and duelling in general but because I don’t want to find out if you would try to kill me, too.~~_

_I know you’d never, but as you’re not here to tell me that: wish me luck._

_Regulus_

* * *

_Hogwarts, 04/06/1978_

_Sirius,_

_Congratulations to your graduation._

_You looked happy and even though I would never admit that to anyone, the way the Potters treated you seemed nice. ~~Maybe a part of me does understand why you left for them.~~_

_Now I finally don’t have to see you every day, and maybe you will finally become as unimportant to me as I am to you – I’m sure then I’d finally lose the last, lingering doubts that keep bothering me._

_On a happier note; Barty is going to be initiated this summer as well! I didn’t even have to say much. Apparently, some older Ravenclaws already talked to him, and he came to me on his own._

_Just one more year in this thrice-damned school, and then I’ll finally do something useful, something with meaning. Something to be proud of._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 12/07/1978_

_Sirius,_

_Yesterday, I had my first meeting, and last night my first… mission. I’d really, really love to say that it was great, but I can’t deceive myself that much. I think I couldn’t even fool anyone else, to be honest. It was just… horrible. Fuck Sirius, it was so horrible, you have no idea._

_The meeting was alright. I think I still have to get used to the way he orders us all around but that’s probably an issue of growing up. I’m just wondering if all that kneeling and grovelling and robe-kissing are really necessary, but everyone does it and I’m not mad enough to question the Dark Lord. Some new recruit did and let’s just say that the Dark Lord is not a patient man, and neither does he like to be questioned._

_Maybe I’ll get used to the raids, too. His explanation for why they’re a useful tool made sense and I mean, I knew that this is a war and not some child’s play, so it probably just takes some time. Hopefully._

_It’s not like the other side doesn’t have to fight as well, right? ~~It’s not like I ever had the chance to stay out of this, one way or another.~~_

_I’m just glad that I made it home before I lost every little content of my stomach. Not that mothers’ disappointed, contemptuous sneer was nice to see, but still better than any of the Death Eaters or, Salazar help me, the Dark Lord witnessing that weakness. In a sense, mothers’ disdain is nearly comforting. At least she’s still paying some semblance of attention and does the things she always did._

_Father’s illness is getting worse, by the way. Not that you’d care – you would probably throw a party if you knew or do something that’s even more stupid and outrageous than your usual modus operandi, just to make it worse._

_Anyway. I guess if you knew about my glorious day, you’d either tell me “I told you so,” or “You were always too soft, too much of a coward, not strong enough.” Or probably both. I can’t even begin to tell you how glad I am that you’ll never get the chance, and I’m going to make sure that I’ll get better. I’ll prove you wrong, and I’ll prove to our parents, every condescending Death Eater, and even to the Dark Lord himself that I’m right where I’m supposed to be. That I’m not weak, and that I won’t give up. This is what I want, and I will make it work._

_Because even though it’s difficult, you were wrong. You were wrong, Sirius, this is the right thing to do._

_Regulus_

* * *

_Hogwarts, 03/09/1978_

_Sirius,_

_What in Salazar’s name were you thinking? Joining Dumbledore’s Order – are you mad?_

_Of course you are, but this is a new brand of stupid, even for you. Do you have any idea how large of a target you’ve put on your back? Do you really think that Dumbledore is going to win this war, that you’re going to see the end of it? That they won’t drop you the instant you put one foot out of line? You can run as much as you want but to them, you’ll always be a Black._

_I don’t even know why I’m surprised, actually, but I’m still furious with you. You probably also think that the Dark Lord doesn’t know about Dumbledore’s little vigilante group, don’t you? You always were gullible to a fault when it came to your precious friends, and this has Potter written all over it. You’re not a follower, and I seriously expected better from you._

_Don’t worry, the irony and hypocrisy aren’t lost on me, but it’s different. I’m not saying I didn’t have a choice because that would be a cheap excuse, but you could have stayed out of all this so easily. And I know that’s absolutely not your thing, but you could be doing your own thing. Hell, even becoming an Auror would’ve been better. The Dark Lord sees them less as a personal affront, and at least you would have an excuse when the war is over. But of course, that wouldn’t matter to you. You just think it’s right, so you do it. Do you think at all?_

_Look at me – eight years since you were sorted into Gryffindor, and I’m still wondering at your utter lack of subtlety, self-preservation, and common sense._

_On another note; I’m ridiculously glad to be back at school and believe me, nobody’s more shocked about that statement than I am. I think I still need time to get used to the things I will have to do, to the fighting and the pressure and all those added expectations._

_I just hope that it gets easier. ~~Please tell me that it gets easier.~~_

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 02/01/1979_

_Sirius,_

_Father died last night. Isn’t it ironic – he dies when I’m home from school and I still barely saw him. And not even because he didn’t want to see me, but because the Dark Lord keeps sending me on missions that take everything out of me._

_I once, at the start of the holidays, asked if I could spend some time with my father – like an idiot – and I’m not going to write down the remarks that elicited. Much less the horror of the Dark Lord’s curses._

_Seriously, I’m not even sure why I did it, it’s not like I had such a great relationship to father. It’s still weird to think that he’s dead now. ~~I wish he would have just once told me that he’s proud of me.~~_

_Mother is beside herself. She has locked herself in her room and the only times she comes out, she’s muttering under her breath how this is all wrong, that it’s not how it was supposed to be, and alternates between cursing your name and wishing you were back. ~~That seems to run in the family as well.~~ Last night, she didn’t even recognize me. That’s probably better for me as much as it is for her. _

_Some days, I think the sanest one left in this house is Kreacher. I don’t know where I’d be without him, he actually cares about me and even though I couldn’t tell him an ounce of the things I’m writing down here, he’s always there with a Calming Draught and tea when I come back from a mission._

_I think I’m getting better with them, by the way. Or well, I did think so until yesterday, anyway. But honestly, who raids a village on New Years? Fuck, there were children, and I just – that can’t be the goal, that can’t be useful in any way, right?_

_Bella just told me to not question the Dark Lord’s decisions and hexed me, and maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s just mad. I don’t even know anymore._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 15/08/1979_

_Sirius,_

_Barely two months since I’ve graduated, and I’m already so tired. I just – I really believed it would get easier, but it’s not. It’s only getting worse if I’m honest._

_I can’t sleep anymore, and if I do manage a few hours, my dreams are full of things I’d rather not write down. And I get it, I really do. It’s a war and that involves fighting, and the Dark Lord is a Dark Lord so he’s the ultimate authority, and yes, he’s powerful and intelligent and bloody terrifying. But all I want is to drink a bottle of Dreamless Sleep without worrying that it’ll make me miss a summon. To just take a break. To just not deal with a bunch of over-competitive Death Eaters that are all scrambling over each other to catch a sliver of his attention._

_Mother cursed us for less when we were small and honestly, that was still better than his smug, self-satisfied expression._

_I just want to forget everything for a few days. Want to turn off my brain and all these questions and pictures and doubts – it’s not like they’re going to lead anywhere, so why even have them in the first place?_

_Why is this so hard? Even many of those that were initiated after me don’t seem to struggle so much, but I just – no matter how many times I repeat to myself that I just have to deal with it because it’s war, “it’s for the cause,” I can’t get rid of the feeling that this is all wrong, that it’s… not the way to go about this._

_I’m still not sure the alternatives are better though. I really don’t know. ~~I’m just so tired, Sirius.~~_

_Anyway. I’ve observed the dynamics over the last few weeks and I think I figured something out: those who he holds in high regard rarely have to go on the “unimportant” raids or do the dirty work. You’d definitely call me selfish for this, but my only hope to somehow keep going is to reach that status._

_He just asked for a house-elf today and I offered Kreacher, so maybe that will make things easier in the long run. It’s still a bit off though, I think he said he needs him in two weeks. I just hope that Kreacher will be fine – but what should he possibly do to a house-elf, right?_

_Let’s just hope that I’m right in that it will get better, and wrong about all this being… well. Wrong. And that I get some sleep because I might just doze off in the next meeting, and I actually like being alive._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 31/08/1979_

_Fuck. Fuck Sirius, what the hell was I thinking? Maybe you should’ve called me an idiot even more often, maybe it would’ve stuck that way._

_This is all a disaster, and I don’t know what to do anymore._

_You were right, of course you were._

* * *

_London, 12/09/1979_

_Sirius,_

_Right. This is it; I’m not going to do this any longer. I’m not longer deceiving myself and closing my eyes so something I more or less knew all along – or maybe I just want to believe that but really, it doesn’t make a difference._

_The Dark Lord is completely mad, and he’s going to tear us all down with him._

_I finally found out what it was he needed Kreacher for. First, it took some time for Kreacher to not be nearly dead, and then it took me another week of research, but now I’m sure that I know what it was that he hid. And I’m sure that I would’ve been better off not knowing, but in the end, it’s probably a fair price to pay._

_He made a Horcrux – and I don’t even know why I’m surprised, but if there ever was a final straw, then this is it. (Like all the murder and torture and the megalomania weren’t a clue, but we established that I’m a naïve, cowardly, selfish idiot, so let’s skip that part.)_

_I’m going to steal and destroy it. (And Merlin, I’d love to see your face right now so badly. It’s nearly a pity that you will never know.)_

_Damn, but all that narcissistic monologuing should have clued me in much sooner to the reality of him having serious issues; or the fact that he obviously gets off on murder and torture (and here is a mental image I really didn’t need.)_

_Kreacher will be able to take me to the cave. Oh right, a cave – a really nice place, with an army of Inferi and a torture potion. What a surprise, honestly – and kind of a fitting resting place for a piece of his rotten soul._

_I keep getting off track, but all things considered, that’s probably justified. I obviously have to do a lot of planning because let’s be honest – this is the most reckless and stupid thing I ever intended to do, and seeing that I’m not a Gryffindor, I’m well aware that it’s very likely the last thing I will do. If the cave doesn’t kill me, the Dark Lord will. ~~And what else is there for me, anyway?~~_

_I hope it’s going better on your side._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 08/10/1979_

_Sirius,_

_Funny how these letters became such a big part of my life. It’s like I’m incapable of ordering my thoughts without them and despite knowing you’ll never read them, the illusion that I’m telling all this to you somehow helped over the last two years._

_I think I’ve finished most of my preparations – at least as much as it’s possible to prepare for this. The only thing I still need to finish is a combination of a ritual and a spell. I doubt that I will make it out of the cave (and I rather die there than at the hands of the Dark Lord), but I’m also not sure if it’s a good idea that I’m the only person to know about this, so I came up with something. There’s a – hopefully, small – chance that it’s not the only Horcrux, or that he wouldn’t make a new one when he discovers this one is gone, so I need a failsafe._

_Kreacher is going to take the locket and destroy it. I will order him to tell nobody of this until the locket is destroyed (so mother or Bella or whoever can’t order him to tell them where I am), and at the same time, I’ll tie a bond between him and the locket that will let him know if there is another Horcrux after he destroys this one._

_He still won’t be able to give direct information, but instructions for another ritual that will give a person who the magic considers trustworthy everything they need to know. The most brilliant part, if I may say so myself, is this though: even if Kreacher dies, the bond still holds and shifts, and if the Dark Lord has another Horcrux, the information will reach a trustworthy person. It will come to them like a Pensive memory._

_I don’t like that I have to trust anyone with this, but it’s as good as I can make it. I just hope that the locket is the only one and that when Kreacher destroys it after my death, the matter is over and done with. Then your side has a chance to finally bring him down._

_I’m going to die, Sirius. And I’m not saying this to be dramatic (that was always more your thing) but because I know that there’s no other way. My chances to get out of the cave are non-existent. Kreacher won’t be able to keep me from setting off the trap without the risk of dying too, and I mean – even if I survived, what is there for me?_

_Keep going on raids until I’m either killed by your side, or by him because my headcount isn’t high enough? I can’t do this anymore. I feel that if I have to raise my wand against one more innocent person, I’m going to lose the last remains of humanity still left within me. This might sound dramatic, actually, but isn’t death the better choice, between the two of them?_

_I see every day what becomes of the people who lose all their humanity and no matter how much I tried to be like them, it only made me disgusted with myself. This has nothing to do with honour or pride or tradition, and I want no part in it._

_Unfortunately, I can’t just hand in my resignation letter._

_I don’t want to die, but I also don’t want this life anymore. I considered fleeing the country, but if he ever learns of that, the whole family will be under suspicion. And while I found a way to cut the connection to my mark, I’m only sure that it works so far as to not instantly alert him of my death or my location._

_Look at me, arguing with myself. Maybe I do still hope that there’s a way out for me. So selfish, so much of a coward._

_I even considered contacting you; but ignoring that you’d never hear me out, I also won’t put you into even more danger than you’re already in. The fewer people know about this, the better._

_At least I’ll do one good thing in my life. At least I realised eventually that I made all the wrong choices. I don’t think anything, much less this, can ever make up for that, but it’s all I have._

_Regulus_

* * *

_London, 04/11/1979_

_Dear Sirius,_

_This is my last letter to you, or well – to myself, while I pretend that I’m talking to you._

_I considered burning all these letters, but I can’t bring myself to do it. They’re the only testament that I wasn’t as horrible as everyone’s going to believe, and even though you’re the only person I know who could possibly find them, I know that it’s highly unlikely. And even if you do, maybe you get some satisfaction from hearing me admit that you were right._

_Or maybe the house will just swallow and destroy them as it does with every single good thing that ever dared to cross the threshold. We’re all rotten here, and don’t we ever forget it._

_I’m getting dramatic again. Nostalgic, too – I actually wanted to go yesterday, but it felt too morbid to leave on your birthday._

_I hope you get to live many more years, Sirius. There are a lot of things I wish I had told you, and no one’s more surprised than me that most of them aren’t insults. Granted, I’m not responsible for everything that went wrong between us, but I carry my fair share of guilt, and I miss you. Merlin Sirius, I miss you so much. I wish things could have been different._

_I wish I could know that you’re going to hold me in good memory, but I vowed to not deceive myself anymore, and I also wish I never did that in the first place._

_Maybe this is just a cheap excuse and because I want to believe myself not a completely horrible person, but – I think I knew. I knew that it was the wrong choice to join the Dark Lord, that the things he and our parents and cousins preach are wrong – but I was scared. I was so bloody scared to take the same risk you did, to leave and defy them. ~~And isn’t knowing it’s wrong but doing it anyway even worse than just being a fool?~~_

_I didn’t have the same support you do, and I convinced myself that I had to take your place so that you would have your chance. And maybe to some degree that’s even true, who knows; but I went too far, and I did so many things no Memory Spell could ever erase from me._

_I feel so much older than I am._

_I hope that it’s at least going to be worth it, that the war will be over soon and that you will live a fantastic, mad, over-the-top life and be happy. Please be happy, Sirius._

_Love,  
Regulus_

* * *

_10/08/1997_

Harry stares down at the last letter and exhales slowly, closes his eyes, and tries to draw himself back into the present.

It’s late into the night and he’s been sitting in the dreary sitting room of Grimmauld Place for hours. There’s a faint pounding behind his temples and his eyes burn from reading in the dim light, but he barely notices any of it.

Hundreds of letters, all of them in the same, neat handwriting, telling the tale of someone who he didn’t know more than a name from, a few days ago. Now it feels like he’s never known anyone this well, and his chest hurts after he just reread the handful of letters that gripped him the most, on his first go. 

He wonders if you can mourn someone you never knew, and then what his friends would say if they knew. Or Sirius.

Bloody hell, Sirius. That thought finally manages to startle him out of his brooding and he bites his bottom lip, runs a hand through his hair, and stares down at the mess of yellow parchment that’s scattered all around him.

He should have told him about the letters before reading them. But Sirius doesn’t know about Horcruxes and his, Ron’s, and Hermione’s plan, and when Harry finally realised that R.A.B is Regulus and, instead of a Horcrux, found a hidden stack of letters, he didn’t think twice about it.

Now, after reading all of them and some of them several times, he has a vague suspicion that Kreacher had a hand in his find. It’s unlikely that nobody ever stumbled about the loose floorboard and noticed the parchment sticking out from underneath it.

There’s a way to find more about the other Horcruxes – a ritual, Regulus wrote, that only works for someone trustworthy. He groans at the thought, the technique reminding him of Dumbledore, and then he grins because he’s rather sure that Regulus wouldn’t have liked that particular comparison.

It slips after a moment and he lets his head fall back against the couch he’s leaning against. Regulus was a Death Eater, said himself that he did have a choice but made the wrong one – despite knowing that, Harry can’t bring himself to feel any of the lingering resentment that nearly made him stop reading at the beginning. The letters made it painfully obvious how much he came to regret his choice, not to mention what he eventually did without ever expecting any recognition.

Right, no use worrying about the dead, much less those he never knew. Dealing with Sirius, after not only keeping Dumbledore’s last task for him a secret but also revealing that his brother wasn’t as much of a soft fool, is going to take his last strength.

For a moment, he considers showing Sirius only some of the letters – there are a lot of accusations in them and as much as he loves Sirius, he can see how some of them might be true. But he knows that it’s not on him to decide, and it’s bad enough that he read them before giving them to Sirius.

When he gets up, his knees and back cracks and he winces, then flicks his wand to sort the hundreds of pages into a neat pile. It’s only when they all swirl around him that he notices that the last few letters have notes on the back, and he quickly grabs them out of the air.

It’s a mess of Runes and numbers and he has absolutely no idea what any of it means, but if he had to take a guess, he’d put all his money on _‘the exact ritual that we need.’_

“Regulus fucking Black, you’re a genius and I’m going to make sure everyone knows it,” he mutters to himself, then shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. Merlin, but he’s too tired for this, no matter how insistently excitement and hope are bubbling within his chest, warring with the still lingering sadness over Regulus’ death. Over the sheer loneliness and uselessness of it, and how he didn’t even get his dying wish – Sirius’ life was anything but fantastic.

At least he’ll never know, he thinks, and then shakes his head again and tries to steel himself for the confrontation with his godfather.

He hesitates for a second longer, gaze flicking to the clock, but he feels like he shouldn’t wait until the next day.

Besides, Sirius’ sleeping schedule is as messed up as his own and avoiding this any longer just feels like an excuse.

* * *

It goes over as well as can be expected, which is not at all, and still better than Harry would have thought. Sirius locks himself in his room for four days, and when he finally reappears, his eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is nearly as messy as Harry’s, but there’s a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips and he somehow looks five years younger.

Harry thinks that it’s probably a good thing that they’ve only found the letters now, not back in his fifth year when Sirius was still a hunted convict, locked up in a house that he hated with every fibre of his being.

Sirius gets a coffee before plopping down in a chair at the kitchen table and looks between him, Ron, and Hermione at the other end of the table. “Did you tell them?”

Harry shifts in his chair, slightly uncomfortable at the question. When he went to Sirius’ room to finally tell him, he didn’t get much more in than _‘Dumbledore,’ ‘task,’ ‘found letters in Regulus’ room,’_ before Sirius grabbed the stack out of his hand and instantly got lost in them.

“Only the basics,” he finally says with an apologetic smile, but Sirius instantly waves him off.

“It’s fine, I get why you read the letters first. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t like to find Dumbledore’s portrait for a nice, long talk, but you only did what you thought was best,” he says, and there’s an affirmative noise coming for Hermione that he ignores for now. “We have a ritual to do then, don’t we?” Sirius goes on and claps his hands together, but it’s hard to miss that underneath the façade, he’s not completely back to his cheery, slightly overbearing self that has reappeared slowly after he was finally pardoned last year.

“Are you sure that you’re fine?” Harry asks, his eyes narrowing when Sirius huffs, and he doesn’t let up on his glare until Sirius slumps in his chair.

“To be honest,” Sirius starts, head tilted like he hasn’t considered it yet – which he probably didn’t. “Yes. I mean, the little bastard actually managed to make me cry for four days straight from beyond his non-existent grave, but I’d rather remember him like this than… how I did before.”

Ron coughs and when Harry looks over, he sees him hide a grin behind his mug of tea, while Hermione frowns, but the corner of her mouth is twitching too.

“Can I see the notes?” she asks, a little hesitantly as if she’s not sure Sirius will let her, but her eyes are burning with curiosity.

Sirius flicks his wand and a few sheets of parchment come flying into the kitchen. “I think I got it, but it’s been a while since I’ve worked with Runes, and Regulus was a right genius at them. So please, I’d rather that we don’t blow up half of the house.”

“Not with the company outside, better not,” Ron murmurs absently while his eyes are fixed on one of the pages that Hermione is just spreading over the table.

Harry’s eyes are automatically drawn into the direction of the entrance hall. Even with the Fidelius – and he thinks it’s rather fair that he has difficulties trusting that particular charm regardless of the secret keeper – the fact that there are Death Eaters keeping watch outside never fails to make him uneasy.

“Want to play a round of chess?” Ron asks with a meaningful look at Hermione, who’s already in a deep discussion with Sirius, and Harry gladly agrees. This is going to take a while.

* * *

They finally end up in what Sirius calls the ritual room, and what Harry would call a dungeon at best, a torture basement at worst, the next evening.

The only light comes from the candles of the ritual circle that throw flickering lights against the walls, and the whole scenery only becomes eerier when Sirius and Hermione start the ritual.

To Harry – and if his expression is anything to go by, to Ron as well – it sounds like a lot of convoluted chants. After the first minute, a glow appears in the white chalk lines on the floor, and they get steadily brighter until he has to avert his eyes.

There are a sizzling noise and a rush, and then it’s all over so suddenly that he’s confused for a moment.

A groan instantly snaps him to attention, but Ron, Hermione, and Sirius all look fine and just as confused. It’s only then that he notices the cowering figure, curled up on themselves in the middle of the runic circle.

His wand is in his hand before the thought processes, and he takes a step forward, ignoring Hermione’s hissed warning.

There’s water dripping from the thick robes the man – boy? – is wearing, he’s shaking all over, and slowly, very slowly an idea forms in Harry’s head, accompanied by that feeling in his gut that usually tells him when he’s right.

“I – Regulus?” he asks before he can doubt himself too much. It comes out more quietly than he meant to, and he hears Sirius take a sharp breath behind him.

The boy slowly raises his head, and Harry has to force himself to not take a step back in surprise. Even in the dim light, the resemblance between him and Sirius is impossible to miss, all aristocratic features and an unfair amount of handsomeness, despite being dripping wet and miserable.

The image of a cave jumps to the forefront of his mind, the feeling of being dragged underwater. He shakes his head; that’s impossible.

But everything else is equally so, and when he chances a glance at Sirius, he sees that he’s white as a sheet, his hands are trembling at his sides and he’s leaning against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him up.

“I – I’m sorry but – where am I? And what – who in Merlin’s name are you?” Regulus asks, his voice hoarse and breaking over every second word but still not missing that distinct, posh accent that sometimes comes through in Sirius when he’s excited or aggravated.

A strangled sound escapes Sirius, and Harry runs a hand through his hair before turning to Hermione with a pleading look.

If the deep crease between her brows is anything to go by, she has come to the same conclusion he did and is already trying to figure out how this is possible. So, he’s not going to have any help on that front.

Turning back, he attempts a smile and lowers his wand to his side. “I’m – I’m Harry, and they are Ron, Hermione, and…” he trails off, suddenly aware of just how impossible this is going to be to believe.

“Sirius?” Regulus murmurs, his eyes fixed on the point behind Harry where he suspects Sirius to still hold up the wall, and his whole expression is full of disbelief and sudden wariness.

Well then. This is going to be interesting if nothing else.


	2. Old Haunts

> _Hogwarts, 17/09/1976_
> 
> _“Sirius,_
> 
> _[…] Do you ever wish that we came from an unimportant family? One without so many expectations and duties, one with parents that had children because they wanted them, one where we could just be ourselves, without the world watching our every move? Do you ever wish that nobody but your friends and family knew you exist? […] ”_

* * *

“Sirius?” It’s out before Regulus’ mind can even start to catch up, and as soon as he hears it, he wants to scoff at himself. The man is way, _way_ too old to be his brother – actually, he looks closer to their father before he got sick, and the thought sends a spike of dread through him.

This doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense, and no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t manage to form a coherent thought, much less come up with an explanation for what happened.

The last thing he remembers are grey, freezing cold hands keeping a surprisingly strong grip on him. He remembers thinking that it’s ironic, contemplating the strength of Inferi while they were dragging him underwater; remembers chants of _‘I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die, don’t, don’t, don’t,’_ and a myriad of other nightmares that are already fading from his conscience, only leaving behind a lingering sense of terror that feels impossible to shake.

And confusion; Merlin, he’s so confused. The room reminds him of the ritual room at Grimmauld Place, but even without knowing who all these people are, if he’s certain of one thing, it’s that his mother is not keen on sharing the house with anyone. Much less let them down here.

“Are you – sorry, this is a stupid question but, are you alright?” the boy who has told him his name asks, and he suddenly has the strong urge to laugh. At himself, because he already forgot again, at the others’ for staring at him with a weird mix of confusion, wariness, and disbelief, and even more at – well, maybe just everything.

“Where am I?” he says, every word sending pain down his throat, and there’s the vague memory of already asking this.

Panic joins his tangled mess of emotions. What if the Dark Lord found out what he was doing? What if he didn’t cut the connection to his mark at all, or tripped some wards, what if the Dark Lord brought him here to pay him his due penalty?

These four don’t look very menacing but the Dark Lord has a strange sense of humour. Letting three new recruits and someone who looks like a weird mix of his father and his brother at 40 have their fun with him would probably be right up his alley.

It’s only when his back hits a wall that he realises that he has scrambled backwards, and he forces himself to take deep breaths and assess the situation. None of them has moved, but there’s worry on the boy’s face that only adds to his confusion.

He looks a bit like James Potter, Regulus thinks, and then snorts to himself; seems like he’s seeing ghosts tonight.

“We don’t mean to harm you,” the redheaded boy speaks up from the corner he’s standing in, but his eyes are sharp, and Regulus doesn’t doubt that this is only true for as long as he doesn’t try to do anything stupid.

“Regulus,” the man who looks like his father, or like Sirius or – fuck, his thoughts are still a mess, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to get a grip on himself.

“Please. Where am I? And who are you? I’ve never…” he trails off again because if this is one of his relatives, however distant, it’s probably better for his health to not insult them, involuntarily or not.

“Alright,” the girl with the bushy hair speaks up for the first time, and Regulus doesn’t manage to hide his violent flinch when she takes a sudden step forward. “We should get into the kitchen, have some tea, and most importantly, dry your clothes.”

“I’m not – “ he starts, staring at her in disbelief, but she only raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Do you want to tell me that’s comfortable?”

“No, but – “

“See? So, do you think you can stand or should we help you?” she says, and he just resigns himself to going along. He doesn’t have the strength left to argue, and he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want some dry clothes. Maybe he can finally figure out what happened. 

If they’re going to kill him, at least he doesn’t die like a wet dog, so it can only get better, right?

“I think I’m fine,” he says and tries to pull himself up. Keyword being tried – his arms and legs are shaking so badly that he nearly crashes face-first to the floor, and he thinks if he was any less out of sorts, he might be wishing for some dignity.

The boy who looks like James Potter is next to him in an instant and wraps one arm around Regulus’ waist, and his whole body shudders at the contact. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him without the purpose of shoving him around, and then banishes the thought as quickly as he can. Really, the kind of nonsense his brain comes up with at the worst possible moments never fails to astound him.

“Sirius,” the redhead says, which has Regulus stumble over his own feet as he whips his head back around. Their eyes meet, but despite the name and the sense of recognition, it simply _can’t_ be his brother.

The arm around his waist tugs carefully and he quickly averts his gaze. He barely has time to pull at the frail threads of his composure when the door opens and he’s brought up short yet again.

“This – this is Grimmauld Place,” he stammers as he tries to take in the kitchen he’d recognise anywhere. “How is this possible?” he asks, and he doesn’t miss the edge of desperation that’s creeping into his voice.

The boy next to him sighs softly, and when Regulus looks at him, he’s frowning. “Yes, it is. It’s complicated – I promise we’ll try to explain, but let’s get you dry and some tea for all of us first, yeah?”

When Regulus nods, he smiles faintly. “Are you fine with me drying them? I mean… I don’t want to just raise my wand at you, but I promise it’s just a Drying Charm,” he says, and Regulus has to swallow harshly at the compassion and understanding he can see in his expression.

Who in Merlin’s and Morgana’s name is this, and how can he possibly know that just raising his wand would probably be the final push for Regulus’ sanity right now?

He bites the inside of his cheeks and nods after he finally sits down at the table, the fire in his back already the greatest relief he has felt in a while. “Alright. And… Can you tell me your names again?”

“I’m Harry,” the boy says, and then slowly raises his wand. Regulus still tenses, but it really is only a Drying Charm. He sighs softly at the sudden lack of _‘miserable, disgusting, horror,’_ at least as long as he doesn’t think about the hundreds of grey, dead faces and hands and - 

“And the redhead is Ron, the girl is Hermione, and…” Harry trails off again, and Regulus remembers that he did that the first time, too. “And Sirius.”

Regulus’ eyes automatically snap back to the man who’s now leaning against the counter, his forehead furrowed and head tilted. Even his gestures remind Regulus of his brother, and there’s a painful pang in his chest as he reminds himself of all the reasons why that’s impossible, even if he’d ignore the obvious age-issue here.

There’s a tense, awkward silence in the kitchen while the boy – Ron – prepares tea for everyone. Regulus keeps his eyes fixed on his hands, still trying to get at least a semblance of order into his thoughts.

Newspapers and parchment litter the table, and he’s just thinking that he’d rather avoid seeing any more news about a war he thought he escaped when his eyes catch on the date that’s printed in bold letters on the front page. 15th of August 1997.

He snorts to himself; The Prophet has always been a rag, but now they don’t even manage to print the correct year any longer. It’s only when there’s a sharp intake of breath from the girl who’s sitting to his left that he looks up again.

She’s staring at him, then back at the newspaper, and before he can even wince at the movement, she flicks her wand, sorting them all into a pile that she then levitates over to one of the counters.

He frowns at her but she’s avoiding his eyes, and the vague feeling of dread only intensifies. The urge to call Kreacher grips him and his mouth is already halfway open when he thinks better of it. As harmless as these four are acting, he still has no idea what’s going on, and he swore to himself to never put the only loyal friend he ever had into danger again.

“How do you take your tea?” Ron asks, startling Regulus out of his thoughts, and he needs a moment to remember.

Before he can, not-Sirius speaks up for the first time. “Black,” he says, his eyes never leaving Regulus, and now, in the better light of the kitchen, he can make out the emotions warring in his eyes. It’s just another reminder of his brother and he quickly looks away again, ignoring the question why this man knows how he takes his tea.

They all settle around the table, and the tension coils around them like the Dark Lord’s snake does before she eats her victims; Regulus thinks that they probably feel a similar sense of terror as he does, and all he can do is wrap his hands around his scalding-hot mug to hide the still persistent tremble.

“Alright, so… What is the last thing you remember?” Harry speaks up, his voice quiet and hesitant, and Regulus bites his tongue because there’s no way he can answer that truthfully.

Silence stretches again before Harry sighs and rubs a hand over his face, dislodging his glasses in the process. “Is it by any chance a cave? You know, awful place, but kind of fitting for Voldemort’s Horcrux?”

Regulus instantly chokes on air, and he stares at the unsuspecting-looking boy even though the coughing fit is shaking his whole body. The bastard has the audacity to grin faintly, and he wishes desperately that he could send a Stinging Hex at him.

Seeing that it would probably seal his fate, he resigns himself to glaring, but eventually gives a sharp nod when everyone stays quiet. There’s obviously no use in denying it, and he just wants to know what’s going on here.

“In… 1979?” Harry asks, now serious again, and he’s gripping his mug as tightly as Regulus does with his own.

He raises a brow at him, unable to help himself. “Of course, in 1979 – what kind of question is that?”

Not-Sirius opens his mouth, but the girl elbows him and rolls her eyes. Definitely not Sirius then, he thinks, before he forces himself to keep paying attention. Salazar, but he feels like he could fall asleep any second if it wasn’t for the adrenaline still coursing through his body.

“It’s the kind of question you ask when it is 1997, of course,” Harry answers when he looks back at him, and there’s no grin, no raised eyebrows, no indication that he’s joking.

Regulus gives a short bark of disbelieving laughter, anyway. “If you want to have a joke on my expense, you need to come up with more than a forged newspaper,” he says and shakes his head.

Harry shrugs. “Cast a Tempus, then.”

That brings him up short, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of his racing heart, of the way blood is rushing in his ears, and that he has no idea where his wand is; if he even still has a wand. How did he not think about this sooner?

For a second, he wonders if he’s maybe still in the cave, hallucinating from the vilest potion he’s ever touched. If he’s still being dragged underwater and his mind is just playing tricks on him to make his final moments a little less miserable.

But his mug is still burning against his fingertips, the fire in his back is slowly but surely warming him up, and when he sinks his teeth into his lip as harshly as he can, the pain is much too real.

“I… I don’t know where…” he trails off, unable to say out loud that he’s unarmed, that he might have lost the single, most important thing he owns as a wizard. And he doesn’t need to if the varying expressions of pity are anything to go by.

“Here,” Harry’s voice pulls him back, and his eyes widen when he realises that he’s holding his wand out to him, handle first, and no sign of doubt or reluctance in his posture.

Either the boy is incredibly sure of himself, incredibly stupid, or has a lot of trust in his friends to have his back. None of these are options Regulus can relate to.

When he still doesn’t take the wand, Harry tilts his head. “I’d do it myself, but you’d probably accuse me of tweaking the spell so really, this is just a matter of time. Take it.”

Even when he finally reaches out, he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one of them to raise their wands, for Harry to pull back and laugh at him, but nothing happens. His fingers curl around the wood and while it doesn’t feel like his own wand would, there’s a surge of warmth. For the first time since he arrived at the seaside in Ireland, a small part of him feels as close to calm as he ever gets.

A quick look around the table shows him that all of them are alert but watching him patiently, and he awkwardly clears his throat. “Tempus.”

Regulus stares. Shakes his head and rubs his eyes, then cancels the spell and casts it again. Neither date nor time change, and it’s only when the wand clatters onto the table that he realises how much he’s shaking.

“That’s impossible,” he breathes, the sound barely audible to himself. He clenches his hands around the edge of the table, tries to somehow keep calm but no matter what he does, he feels like he can’t breathe, like his chest is becoming tighter and tighter and –

“Kreacher!”

There’s a pop, somewhere, voices talking over each other, and Regulus has no idea how much time has passed, much less what happened, when there’s something cool pressed against his lips.

He flinches at the taste of the potion but swallows on instinct, and then he can finally breathe again. The spots in his vision vanish, and he sags in his chair.

“Mas… Master – Master Regulus?” a voice croaks next to him, and there he is. Loyal, kind, _fantastic_ Kreacher, looking much older than Regulus remembers, and he thinks if he had any energy left, he would just go into a laughing fit.

Instead, he bows his head and attempts a smile. “Hello, Kreacher. Do you think you could confirm something for me?”

There are tears running down Kreacher’s wrinkled face, but his nod is as enthusiastic as ever, and only the knowledge that Kreacher wouldn’t appreciate it keeps him from pulling his batty little friend into a hug.

“Can you… Can you tell me which date it is?” he asks, his voice breaking again over the words, but by now he’s seriously past caring.

Kreacher pulls at his ears and his eyes flicker to Harry and not-Sirius for a moment. Or well, maybe it actually is Sirius, but even if it should really be 1997, his brother shouldn’t look like 40, so he puts that particular question away for later.

“It’s the 15th of August 1997, Master Regulus,” Kreacher says with a trembling voice. “Kreacher thought – Kreacher thought Master Regulus were dead! If Kreacher knew, if Kreacher only – “

“It’s alright,” Regulus rushes to say, and he wants so desperately to have an explanation for any of this that he pulls on the last remains of his strength and turns back to the other four occupants of the room. “Okay, I obviously have no reason to doubt you, seeing that ignoring evidence is only for fools.”

There’s a collective snort around the table and he rolls his eyes. “That still doesn’t explain how I’m… here?”

 _“Not dead,_ you mean?”

“Sirius – “

“No, Harry, you don’t understand,” the man hisses, his eyes suddenly blazing with fury, and Regulus thinks that _now_ he can believe that this is his brother, who’s just turning his glare on him. “How, and I can not stress this enough, could you be _so stupid?_ Why didn’t you come to me, I could have helped you! What kind of idiotic idea is it to trust a house-elf with something as important as this, just _how_ much disregard for your own life did you have to go to your death so willingly? What – “

“Stop,” he interrupts, his voice sharper than intended, and glares right back. “For Salazar’s sake, I’m not even sure that I know who you are, much less what happened that I’m here now. So if you could for only once in your life not be a selfish prick, I would be ever so grateful.”

Surprisingly enough, that stops who he is sure by now is Sirius in his tracks, and a haunted expression takes over his face.

Harry sighs and leans forward to cross his arms on the table. “I’m not sure if we have a much better explanation than you do. Mione?”

The girl straightens up and taps a finger against the table. “I obviously can’t be sure yet, but I’m assuming that it’s time-travel of some kind. It should be impossible, of course, but it’s the only thing I can come up with.” She bites her lip before she draws a breath and says, “I have absolutely no idea how, though. I’m certain that we did the ritual correctly, and that the Runes and Arithmancy were correct too, so by all means, he shouldn’t be here. No offence.”

He just shrugs awkwardly because he really has no room to complain. Although – “The ritual, you said? You mean, the one I came up with? Did Kreacher – “ he trails off when Harry shakes his head and frowns at the way green eyes are averted, for the first time this night.

“But how…”

“We found your letters. Or Harry did,” Sirius speaks up quietly, and a lump lodges itself firmly in Regulus’ throat at the troubled expression on his brother’s face.

He tries to breathe through it, and his eyes flicker to Kreacher who is still standing next to him, and now looks incredibly guilty.

“Kreacher is so sorry,” he wails when he meets Regulus’ eyes. “Kreacher tried, tried everything he could think of to destroy the nasty locket but Kreacher failed. Kreacher is a bad elf, he is so sorry.”

The locket didn’t get destroyed. It’s _1997_ and the locket still exists, and he would have died for nothing if whoever these people are beyond their names didn’t find his letters. It’s 1997 and the Dark Lord is still not dead.

“It’s not your fault,” he forces himself to press out. “I should have considered how difficult it is to destroy a Horcrux. I’m sorry Kreacher.”

“Master Regulus is too good,” Kreacher sniffles, then seems to remember that they’re not alone and obviously tries to pull himself together.

“You can go, if you want to,” Harry says to him, then shoots Regulus a questioning glance, who only manages a weak smile.

Kreacher seems conflicted, wringing his hands and looking between all of them, but eventually, he slowly nods and trots out of the kitchen.

“Okay, so – The locket still exists but… Why did you do the ritual, then? It should have only worked after the locket is destroyed and the magic noticed that there’s another Horcrux – or did you know about the existence of the locket before reading my… the letters?”

Despite his exhaustion, he can feel his face burn as he considers all the implications of the last part, but he shoves the thoughts away as best as he can.

“We know there are… more,” Harry says hesitantly. “At least Hermione, Ron, and I did before I gave the letters to Sirius. I destroyed one in my second year, and – “

“What?!”

Harry stares at him in confusion before he shrugs. “Long story. Anyway, I went to the cave with Dumbledore a few months ago – “

_“What?!”_

Harry huffs, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips, and Regulus wonders once more if he’s hallucinating. Why in Merlin’s name would Dumbledore take a teenager who’s most likely not even out of school along to search for a Horcrux? He always knew the man is batty, but that’s stretching it, even for him.

“Anyway,” Harry repeats with a pointed look. “We found the fake locket, and I only realised a few days ago who R.A.B. is. I searched your room for the Horcrux but found your letters instead, and we hoped that by doing the ritual, we would discover where the other five or six are.”

Regulus would like to repeat his question, but his mouth is suddenly dry again and the shaking of his hands is increasing once more, so he’s not sure he would manage if he tried.

Harry gives him a sympathetic smile. “Well, and instead of the information, the ritual brought us you. That’s about all we know for certain if Mione doesn’t have another clue.”

The girl in question looks annoyed at the lack of knowledge but gives Harry a smile.

“Maybe we should try to make more sense of this tomorrow?” Ron speaks up, and Regulus doesn’t miss the pointed look in his direction. “It’s late, we’re all tired, and it’s not like we have a lack of time at the moment.”

“Fuck!” Sirius exclaims suddenly, his eyes wide and panicked while he seems unaware of the sudden bolt of tension he just sent through all of them.

“What?” Ron asks sharply, his wand already in his hand, but it’s only when Harry nudges Sirius that he finally reacts.

“How did he make it through the Fidelius? That shouldn’t be possible. What if the Charm broke?” Sirius presses out, and he can see the colour drain from all of their faces.

There’s silence for a beat or two. “Let’s be honest – if the wards had fallen, we’d be dead by now,” Harry finally says, and Regulus wonders what it is with this boy that he speaks about Horcruxes and death and a cave full of Inferi like it’s his everyday life.

“Wouldn’t it take a while until anybody notices?” he asks. “And, come to think of it, from who exactly do you expect to be attacked?”

“Death Eaters, obviously,” Sirius huffs, but his shoulders relax ever so slightly. “And no, seeing that we have a bunch of them around the house constantly, I doubt that it would take them long to notice. But I’m going to check the wards, anyway. Are you fine with your old room? It hasn’t changed much,” he adds as an afterthought, and Regulus nods before he thinks too much about it.

It’s not like any of the other rooms are much better. “Is…” he swallows, takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep eye-contact with Sirius. “Is someone else here?”

Sirius seems to get his implicit question because he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “No, although mothers’ portrait is just as horrible, so you’ll want to be silent in the entrance hall. Believe me, she’s not happy about this house being used as the base for the Order of the Phoenix and I can only imagine the fit she’d throw if she learns what you did.”

Regulus chokes again but this time, it’s on a laugh – of disbelief, of pure hysterics, he has no idea, but it really doesn’t matter.

“You can get yourself some clothes out of my room, I don’t know if yours are still there,” Sirius throws over his shoulder, and then he’s gone from the kitchen.

Regulus stares after him for several moments before he turns his eyes back on the other three. “So, you’re… members, too? Aren’t you a bit, I don’t know, young?” he asks before he can stop himself, but neither of them appears to take offence.

“We’re not,” Harry answers.

“My mum agrees with you on the age-issue, although that’s a whole different topic,” Ron adds. “But we didn’t think going back to Hogwarts now that it’s Voldemort’s would be a good idea, with Harry here.”

That… Is more confusing than helpful, something Hermione seems to notice as well, as she smiles at him apologetically. “It’s all a very, very long story, and I agree with Ron that we probably should all catch a few hours of sleep. If you don’t want to eat something first, that is?”

The mention of food makes his stomach churn uncomfortably, and he quickly shakes his head. “I think I just want to sleep,” he says, silently hoping that he’s even going to be able to.

“Understandable,” Hermione nods. “Are you… Do you think you can make it up the stairs?”

Regulus smiles weakly at her hesitance and nods. “I’m fine, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The moment he gets up, he realises that he might have judged too fast. The world instantly starts swimming in front of his eyes, and once again it’s Harry who keeps him from falling.

“Thanks,” he mutters, some embarrassment catching up on him, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Harry asks when they reach the top landing after what has to be the slowest walk up the stairs Regulus ever had. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it without help, and he’s kind of surprised at the strength Harry seems to have despite being nearly a head shorter than him.

He actually takes a moment to consider the question, as much as he’s still able to. “I think so, and if not, I can always call Kreacher,” he eventually says, and even manages a smile.

Harry watches him for a beat before he nods. “Goodnight, Regulus,” he says quietly, and then he silently disappears down the stairs.

After watching after him and catching his breath, he steels himself and pulls the door to his room open. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. To him, it feels like he’s only left a few hours ago, and no matter how hard he tries to wrap his mind around the fact that it was 18 years ago, he just _can’t_.

He sighs to himself and finally walks inside, and Sirius wasn’t lying when he said that it’s still mostly the same, down to those ridiculous newspaper articles on the wall. The first instinct is to reach for his wand to finally vanish them, but his holster is empty, of course, and he closes his eyes against the sudden wave of dread that washes over him.

There’s really nothing for him but pure hope that nobody is going to murder him in his sleep.

“Kreacher?” he calls when that reminds him of another issue, and he smiles when the elf immediately appears in front of him. “Is there any Dreamless Sleep in the house?”

Kreacher narrows his eyes. “Master Regulus is exhausted, he should be trying to sleep without nasty potions,” he says, and Regulus plops onto his bed in an ungraceful heap.

“Exhaustion doesn’t keep the dreams at bay, and I’d rather have a good night’s sleep before I’m confronted with even more unbelievable things tomorrow,” he explains patiently, and Kreacher’s ears drop a little before he nods and pops away.

Thankfully, Kreacher is back within minutes and after Regulus has reassured him once more that he did everything he could, he finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, sunlight is streaming through the window and it takes him long moments to remember what happened last night – or however he’s supposed to estimate time now, anyway.

Every single part of his body still aches and even a scalding shower only goes so far, but there’s just something about surviving, about successfully tricking the Dark Lord regardless of his personal part in that, that makes him feel like he got a second chance he never dared to ask for.

Granted, there are a great many things he doesn’t know yet, and the Dark Lord is still wreaking havoc on the wizarding world, but everybody assumes he’s been dead for nearly two decades, so he thinks he has at least a small advantage.

“ – sure we can trust him?” The voice of Hermione, if he remembers correctly, reaches him when he arrives at the bottom of the stairs and pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Yes, Mione, I’m sure,” a male voice answers.

“But Harry, he’s – “

“I know, okay? I know, but – just ask Sirius, alright?”

Regulus winces because he has more than a good idea of how that would go over. Not that he can blame them, but it still sends a spike of discomfort and regret through him.

“I’m sure, Hermione. I get that you’re not, and I would offer you to read the letters if it wasn’t for, you know, him suddenly being alive. But I give you my word.”

He stops in his tracks, his hand only inches from the door, and stares in disbelief at the dark, worn wood. No matter for how long he has tried to convince himself that he doesn’t care what Sirius thinks of him, hearing him say this makes up for the embarrassment that’s been lingering ever since he learnt that someone read those bloody letters.

“I don’t mean to doubt you, but I have to ask one last time – are you really, completely sure? All our lives are at risk, Sirius, and I know he’s your brother but – “

“Believe me,” Regulus finally speaks up as he pushes the door open, and only smiles at their startled expressions. “If anyone is likely to distrust me, it’s Sirius.”

Sirius grins sheepishly and shrugs, lounging in his chair with a cup of coffee balanced on one knee. “If that isn’t my little brother, now all but 20 years younger than me,” he greets, and Regulus rolls his eyes as he takes the chair in front of the hearth again.

Now that he’s not running on pure adrenaline, he actually notices the resemblance Harry has to both of his parents, the messy hair and bright eyes, but it’s impossible to miss that he’s smaller and thinner than either James Potter or Lily Evans ever was.

“The way you look, you’d think it’s 30,” he finally answers when he realises that he’s been staring, and frowns when the three teenagers tense slightly.

His brother only shrugs again, but the easy smile vanishes from his face and his eyes seem to cloud over. “I’d like to see you after twelve years in Azkaban, and another two on the run.”

“Excuse me but what?” he chokes out and looks him up and down in an attempt to determine if Sirius is just messing with him. The strained atmosphere tells him he’s not though, and seriously, the _one_ time he wants his brother to be an utter prick, he has to go and be honest.

“Let’s have breakfast first, and then story-time, yeah?” Harry speaks up before Sirius can, and some of the tension leaves the room.

Ron gets up and walks over to the counter. “Pancakes?” he throws over his shoulder, and there’s a murmur of agreement.

“Why don’t you ask Kreacher to do them?” Regulus asks, which is answered with a groan from Ron, Harry, and Sirius, and a huff from Hermione.

Before either of them can say anything, Kreacher pops into the kitchen and waves a spatula at Ron. “Kreacher will make breakfast for Master Regulus and his guests!”

Sirius snorts, and Regulus can’t hide his grin either, but there’s a short flicker of anger in Harry’s eyes that makes him wonder if there’s a story, here.

“Alright, so maybe we can start with some basics already?” Hermione says when the silence is threatening to become oppressive again, and Regulus gives her a grateful smile. “What are some of your most pressing questions, then?”

He tilts his head and thinks about it; there are so many, he has no idea where to begin. “Did the Dark Lord win? You said he only now took Hogwarts, which would lead me to believe that he didn’t, but I can’t see him fighting this war for two decades without winning. And how in Merlin’s name Sirius landed himself in Azkaban, obviously.”

It’s not like he can’t see it, really, it’s such a Sirius-thing to do something utterly stupid, but that doesn’t mean he’s not curious about the exact level of stupidity.

“Well,” Harry sighs, his eyes fixed on the high windows at the other end of the kitchen. “I guess that goes hand in hand, anyway.”

He, Sirius, and Hermione exchange a look as if to determine who should speak, but in the end, it’s Harry who draws himself more upright. “In 1981, Voldemort – “

Regulus flinches at the name, and Harry stares at him in confusion. “Last night you were fine with us saying the name.”

“Well, last night I had to save my energy for the bare essentials. But don’t mind me, I’ll get used to it,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will. Even those who didn’t join the Dark Lord never dared to speak his name, and it’s another curiosity he makes a note to find out more about.

Harry shrugs and thinks for a moment before he speaks again. “He attacked my parents, who were hiding under the Fidelius. They first made Sirius the secret keeper, but eventually decided that it would be smarter to have someone who’d be less obvious, so they switched to Worm – Peter Pettigrew.”

Regulus scoffs but otherwise stays silent.

“Long story short, Pettigrew became a Death Eater and gave their location up to Voldemort, who then attacked us. He killed my parents, but when he tried to murder me, the curse backfired and killed him instead. Well, obviously it didn’t kill him, but he disappeared for the following ten years. I was saved by my mothers’ love, at least that is – was Dumbledore’s theory,” Harry explains, and he sounds like he has repeated this story way too many times.

“How did he come back? And when?” Regulus can’t help but ask, and Harry’s posture becomes even more rigid. Hermione scoots closer to him and presses their shoulders together.

“In my fourth year. Pettigrew helped him, together with Barty Crouch. Junior, I mean.”

Regulus can practically feel himself blanch at the name, and instinctively grips the edges of his chair.

“Another long story, come to think of it. Anyway, in 1981, after my parents died, Sirius tried to find Pettigrew to confront him –“

“Of course you did,” Regulus sighs with a glance at his brother, whose face is contorted in obvious anger and regret.

“Pettigrew set him up. Accused him of betraying them, cut off a part of his finger, blew up a street full of Muggles, and then transformed into…” Here, Harry trails off and turns to look at Sirius, who nods sharply.

“Into his Animagus form,” Harry finishes, and Regulus wonders how they’re only at the beginning of the story and his head is already starting to spin again.

He rubs his forehead before he looks back at all of them. “You mean to tell me that this untalented idiot of a wizard was an Animagus?”

Sirius huffs. “We all were, James, Peter, and I. It’s how I escaped, too.”

“You _broke out_ of Azkaban? Oh Salazar,” he mutters, but there’s also a lot of curiosity, so he adds, “What’s your form?”

Sirius grins and tilts his head. “A dog, a big, large dog that looks like a grim. Rather useful to get by if you’re on the run.” 

Harry shakes his head at Sirius in fond exasperation. “Yeah, that was in our third year. Pettigrew hid as a pet rat with the Weasleys – “ here, he nods into Ron’s direction who is leaning against the counter and watching Kreacher, but now looks over at them with his face scrunched up in disgust.

“Believe me, finding out that your pet is actually a Death Eater in disguise is something you don’t want to experience,” he says, and Regulus grimaces in sympathy.

“I saw a picture of them,” Sirius picks up again. “And I knew he was at Hogwarts with Harry. I mean, I already had a bad track record of being a godfather, but I couldn’t just do nothing. So, I escaped.”

“And gave the whole wizarding world a right scare,” Hermione says, rolling her eyes.

“How did you get pardoned, then? I mean if I understand this right, you were imprisoned because people assumed you betrayed the Potters, right? Which, can I just say, is ridiculous for anyone who has ever seen the two of you together,” he says dryly.

“Well, and there was that issue with the thirteen Muggles I supposedly blew up,” Sirius says.

“The Pardon is… another long story. We’ll get there,” Harry says with a sigh but he’s interrupted when Kreacher levitates plates and cutlery onto the table.

Regulus raises a questioning brow at the mismatched dishes.

“If you want to keep your silverware, don’t let thieves use your house as a headquarter for a vigilante organisation,” Sirius says with a grin, and Regulus is rather sure that his brother doesn’t mind this one bit.

It’s not like he cares either, he realises. Nearly dying and time-travelling puts some things into perspective, he supposes.

“So uh, where were I?” Harry asks in between bites of his pancakes, and Ron rolls his eyes at him with a grin.

“My pet, the Death Eater, mate.”

“Right. So basically, we thought the whole year that Sirius was after me to finish Voldemort’s job, but at the end of the year there was a confrontation and we learned the truth. Remus taught Defence that year, but of course, our word and that of a – of him weren’t enough to convince the Minister. Sirius had to flee again, Pettigrew got away, and searched for Voldemort. Successfully, which is probably the biggest feat he ever managed in his god-damned life,” Harry adds, and his hand is gripping the fork so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

Regulus wonders at the Muggle phrase but decides not to ask.

“In fourth year,” Harry goes on after another few bites, “The Triwizard Tournament took place at Hogwarts.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Harry smiles faintly while the other three look grim. None of them is eating much, not that Regulus is much better. “I wish I was. They installed an age-line that was supposed to keep anyone under 17 from participating, but well. Crouch posed as Moody that year, using Polyjuice, and entered me into the tournament.”

Regulus stares at him, trying to picture this boy in a deadly tournament he only ever read about because even wizards considered it too dangerous to continue, and wonders how he’s even still sitting here.

“Voldemort’s great plan was that I win, and the cup then took me to a graveyard in the town his father lived in,” Harry explains, and his face closes off even more while his voice seems suddenly flat.

“Harry are you sure that you want to…” Hermione says lowly, one of her hands gripping Harry’s shoulder while her eyes find Ron’s over the table whose brows are furrowed in obvious concern as well.

Harry smiles weakly but nods. “It’s fine, it’s not like I didn’t have to tell that story way too many times already,” he says before turning back to Regulus. “Suffice to say, his plan worked, but I wasn’t the only one who won. The other Hogwarts champion and I reached the cup at the same time and grabbed it together. We landed in the graveyard, and he didn’t waste a second to _‘kill the spare’_.”

There’s venom dripping from his every word, and the sudden anger transforms his face into something Regulus didn’t think him capable of.

“Pettigrew tied me to a gravestone and did a ritual to give him his body back. Voldemort then summoned his Death Eaters, talked for long enough to be satisfied with his own voice, and then was so very gracious to give me the chance to duel,” Harry goes on, and Regulus wonders, _again_ , how he’s still sitting here. It’s warring with his amusement over the remark of the Dark Lord’s love for hearing himself talk.

“Jokes on him though because I obviously got away. For whatever reason, they made the cup into a two-way portkey, and I made it back to Hogwarts. Where I then was nearly killed by Crouch, but that’s a different story.”

“What happened to him?” It’s out before he can stop himself, and he instantly winces at his own thoughtlessness.

But even though he has seen Barty’s descent into fanatism, they were friends first. The only, actual friend he ever had, really, and it’s hard to bring those two pictures he has of him together.

Some of the anger on Harry’s face melts away, only to be replaced by a haunted, uncomfortable expression that intensifies Regulus’ dread. “After Dumbledore questioned him with Veritaserum, he called the Minister, who brought a Dementor because…” he hesitates, shifts in his chair, and his eyes turn apologetic. “Well, because he was a known Death Eater who was believed to have died in Azkaban, a few years before.”

Regulus swallows harshly and bites his tongue before he asks the question he fears to already know the answer to. “What happened?”

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “He was kissed on sight, and then Fudge proceeded to not believe a word I said for the following year.”

He knows that the latter point is what he should be worried about, but right now he can only focus on the rolling of his stomach, the way his mind is assaulting him with memories of Barty before they’ve joined the Death Eaters. With ink smudged on his cheeks and surrounded by books and parchment in the library, of sitting at the edge of the Black Lake and telling each other how horrible their parents are, of kissing behind the Quidditch stands, _“just once,”_ and –

“I’m sorry, I have to – ” he mutters, already pushing back from the table and wincing when the chair screeches loudly against the stone floor. He only just manages to not stumble over his own feet while he rushes over to the door that leads into the backyard.

It’s like the world is swimming in front of his eyes, and only when he’s outside and rubs at them furiously does he realise that he’s crying. A painful laugh forces itself out, and he thinks that he doesn’t even know when he has cried the last time, only to remember a cave and a torture potion and so many begs and pleas for forgiveness that it’s a miracle he didn’t lose his voice in the process.

He leans against the wall of the house and forces himself to breathe. There’s guilt gnawing at his insides, and he clenches his teeth against the sobs that are trying to break free, or maybe it’s against nausea still threatening to overwhelm him.

The Dark Lord loved to use Dementors on his attacks and seeing them suck the soul out of someone is one of the worst things Regulus ever had to witness. It’s impossible to not picture Barty in the same position, and no matter that they weren’t as close as they used to be over the last year, he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

Well, maybe he’d make an exception for the Dark Lord. The irony would be hilarious.

A warm hand touches his shoulder and he jumps, then gives an annoyed huff at the sight of Sirius.

“Alright there?” Sirius asks and reaches into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

Regulus doesn’t hesitate to take the offer. “Fine, just – a lot to take in,” he finally says around the first drag of smoke, and he tries to focus on the burn in his throat to vanish the images in his head.

“The two of you were friends, weren’t you?” Sirius asks, ignoring his obvious lie, but at least he keeps looking over the garden instead of scrutinizing him.

He sighs and lets his head rest against the wall in his back. The sun is already standing high, and the bright light and warmth on his skin help slightly against the cold he didn’t even realise had gripped him.

“Yes,” he says around another drag of smoke. “And it’s my fault he became a Death Eater in the first place.”

Sirius hums softly. “Would you say that it’s our parents’ fault that you became one? Or of the other Slytherins?”

“Of course not, but – “

“No buts. There was a lot of pressure on you, but you can still acknowledge that when it comes down to it, it was your choice. So, how is it different when it’s about someone who was never pressured from all sides?” Sirius argues, and his voice grows more agitated to the end of the sentence.

Regulus has difficulties to connect Sirius, who accused him of being just as bad as their parents when he was barely 12, with a Sirius who openly speaks about pressure and expectations and actually tries to make him feel better.

“You can’t compare it like that,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Listen, I’m not saying that I know what went down between the two of you or how this whole recruitment process and what-not works,” Sirius says, turning to look at him. “But I’m rather sure that there needs to be a bit more than a 17-year-old who says his friend would probably like some torture and murder in his five-year-plan.”

“His what?”

“Oh, nevermind, Muggle-reference. Just – don’t blame yourself.”

“How can you say this so easily?” Regulus exclaims, throwing a hand up in exasperation. “Granted, I might not have dragged him there against his will and he was rather enthusiastic about the whole thing, but you’ve read the bloody letters. I thought it would be _nice to have a friend there,_ and – “

“He was in the cell next to me,” Sirius interrupts again, and he thinks that he’d like to snap at him for that if the statement didn’t leave him speechless. “And let me tell you, he was absolutely mental, even before the Dementors got to him. He tortured the Longbottoms into insanity, together with dear Bella, Rodolphus, and Rabastan. There was no regret, apart from landing himself in Azkaban,” Sirius says, and he can feel him shiver next to him despite the summer heat.

Regulus knows that it’s true, knows how much Barty revelled in the chaos and the attacks, how much he craved for the Dark Lord’s attention and approval. It was another reason why Regulus felt so inadequate and out of place.

Bellatrix has always been insane, but Barty… Barty once just wanted to get back to his father, and then totally lost himself in dark magic and power-phantasies.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and they fall silent for a while, only the sounds of the street on the other side of the house between them.

After a while, Sirius clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Regulus’ head whips around and he stares at him, not sure if he’s actually hearing voices now. “You – _what?”_

Sirius shifts from one foot to the other and runs a hand through his hair. “I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just… abandoned you. I should’ve tried to help you, take you with me or – “

“Don’t,” he quickly interrupts, shaking his head and desperately tries to keep a grip on his emotions. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“There are a few dozen letters who claim differently,” Sirius says dryly, and there’s a hint of amusement seeping into his voice that is already enough to lessen some of the sudden tension.

He shrugs and looks away again. “I know, and maybe things could have been different, maybe not. I think I wouldn’t have believed you before I had to… see how it is. Let’s just agree that we both made mistake and leave it at that, yeah?”

Sirius is silent for a while, his expression pensive, but eventually, he slowly shakes his head. “I know that for you, it all just happened, but for me, it’s been over a decade, Reg. I thought you were dead for years, and even though Azkaban is… well, Azkaban, I can acknowledge today that the world isn’t as black and white as I liked to believe. I’m not saying that we can just forget everything, but at least I’m serious when I say that I’m sorry.”

The sudden lump in his throat makes it difficult to breathe, and he stubbornly keeps his burning eyes fixed on the old, dead willow-tree on the other side of the small garden. “I’m sorry, too,” is all he manages, but at least he doesn’t jump when Sirius presses their shoulders together.

When he finally doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry at another kind word from Sirius, he takes a breath and says, “So, breaking out of Azkaban and getting pardoned, huh? How did you manage that?”

Sirius snorts next to him. “The pardon was Harry’s feat, actually. As he said, the Ministry didn’t believe him at the end of his fourth year, and made sure that everyone and their cat hated him all through his fifth year – “

“Why would people care what a Hogwarts student has to say, anyway?” he asks, looking at Sirius with a raised brow.

Sirius stares at him as if he has just suggested that Hippogriffs would make good pets, and then his eyes widen and he smacks his forehead. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. Well, when Voldemort vanished after the attack on James and Lily, the wizarding world basically named him their saviour. The boy-who-lived, the chosen one, whatever you prefer. He’s famous.”

It’s Regulus turn to stare, and he slowly shakes his head. “That’s – that’s utterly stupid.”

“Try telling them that,” Sirius says with a shrug. “Some believed him, many didn’t, and Voldemort kept a low profile for that year. It ended with him…” he stops, frowns, and pulls out another cigarette. “He set a trap for Harry and lured him to the Ministry. There was a fight between the Order and the Death Eaters, and when the Minister and the Aurors arrived, they finally saw it themselves. Unfortunately, they saw me as well, and I was captured.”

He’s not sure what he expected, but he doesn’t stop his exasperated groan. “Idiot,” he adds for good measure because you can’t say these kinds of things often enough to Sirius.

“If you think that I’m not going to help my godson when he’s chased by Death Eaters, you know me less well than I expected you to,” Sirius says, but there’s no heat behind his words, and Regulus realises how strange it is that they’re actually _here,_ talking to each other civilly.

Sirius doesn’t give him time to ponder on that thought. “Harry threw a massive tantrum and basically threatened the Minister with a public campaign if I don’t receive a trial. That, together with Dumbledore’s influence, a lot of witnesses, Veritaserum, and Pensive memories, eventually saved my ass.”

That’s… He doesn’t know what to think, actually. “I think I need to sit down,” he mutters, and Sirius snorts before vanishing his cigarette.

“Come on then,” he says and pulls the door to the kitchen open.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are still sitting around the table and smile when they take their chairs.

Before any of them can say something though, Kreacher pops into the room right next to Regulus. “Kreacher found Master Regulus’ wand, Sir!” he exclaims, eyes shining with pride and his whole attitude so excited that he thinks the old elf isn’t far from jumping up and down.

Not that he would mind; his own heart is racing in his chest at the statement, and he has to grip the edge of his chair to keep himself calm. “Are you sure? How would you possibly…” he trails off and just keeps staring at Kreacher.

“Master Regulus put it into his pocket,” he says dryly and crosses his arms over his chest. “Master Regulus only searched in his holster.”

The urge to hit his head against the table in exasperation is strong, but he just closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply in relief. “Thank you, Kreacher, I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he sighs. “Do you have it here?”

The feeling when Kreacher hands him his wand can only be described as pure, unadulterated happiness, and he squeezes the small elf’s shoulder in silent thanks.

Harry clears his throat, then, looking between the two of them. “That reminds me of something I wanted to ask,” he says slowly, like he’s not sure that he should be asking.

Regulus only raises a brow and gestures for him to go on, wondering what it could possibly be.

“Kreacher said last night that he didn’t manage to destroy the locket, so… Do you still have it?”

Kreacher tenses and Regulus can feel all the joy leave him in a rush. He can’t believe that he didn’t think of this already and spares a moment to question if he lost some of his intelligence at the bottom of that bloody lake.

“Kreacher tried to destroy the locket, he did!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Kreacher,” Harry says, but there’s a certain impatience to his tone. “I just need to know where it is. We want to destroy it as much as you wanted to.”

“Lies!” Kreacher suddenly cries, and he’s glaring so fiercely at everyone but Regulus that he’s rendered speechless, He’s never seen him behave this badly around anyone, much less towards people who are, theoretically, his Master, at least as far as Sirius is concerned. “The Mudblood and the Blood-traitors – “

“Kreacher!” Regulus and Sirius say at the same time, although Sirius’ voice is much sharper and angrier. They still stare at each other in surprise before turning their eyes back on Kreacher, who frowns at Regulus in confusion.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No insults to anyone, alright? And please Kreacher, just tell us what happened to the locket?”

The elf huffs but nods. “After the… _Order-people_ cleaned the house and tried to throw it away, Kreacher saved it,” he starts, and there’s a sharp intake of breath from his right that has to be either Hermione or Ron.

Regulus decides not to ask about this part of the story later on, and just keeps looking at Kreacher expectantly.

“But then, the nasty thief came into the house when everyone was gone and – and – “ Kreacher’s eyes are growing wet and his bottom lip is trembling, and Regulus kneels in front of him.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. What happened, then?”

“He stole it!” Kreacher wails, already in the process of throwing himself onto the floor, and only quick reflexes on Regulus’ part keep him from hitting his head against it.

“Stop, no punishing yourself, that’s an order!” he says sharply. “It’s been a while, but I haven’t changed my opinion on that, alright? And I’m rather sure Sirius has not ordered you to, either.”

Kreacher sniffles to himself but nods.

“Good. Do you know who exactly it was?” Regulus goes on, and he has to keep himself from fidgeting.

“Mun – Mundungus Fletcher,” Kreacher says, somewhere between a sneer and his tears, and Regulus finally looks up when there’s a collective groan around the table.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Hermione says with a kind smile that’s mostly ignored by Kreacher.

Harry is rubbing his forehead. “Sirius, can you contact him?”

Sirius grimaces and taps a finger against the table. “I doubt that he’s going to come willingly after what happened when we – after Mad-Eye died.”

“That bloody bastard,” Ron mutters, glaring at the table, while Harry nods in agreement.

“Do you think…” he starts after a moment with a glance at Regulus, before turning to Kreacher. “Do you think you could find him and bring him here, Kreacher?”

The elf stares at Harry with narrowed eyes and then looks at Regulus, who gives him a small nod. Really, he should find out what it is between the four of them and the elf.

Before Kreacher can pop away, Harry calls, “Wait!” and pulls out a Moleskin bag from underneath his shirt.

Regulus’ eyes widen when he pulls out a locket – the locket _he_ left in the cave, years ago or yesterday, with a note to the Dark Lord. “He never – he _never_ found out?” he breathes, not sure if he should be relieved or insulted.

Harry smiles at him and shrugs. “He’s always been too sure of himself, hasn’t he? I just thought that maybe Kreacher would like to have it?”

It’s a surprisingly kind thought, considering the way the two of them have treated each other in the short time Regulus has been here, and he nods. “Sure, if he wants to?”

Kreacher is staring between the two of them with wide eyes, and even when Harry holds it out to him, he only takes it slowly, like he’s still expecting this to be a bad joke. “Thank you,” he mumbles, merely audible, and clutches the locket to his chest.

After a beat of silence, he straightens up and bows deeply. “Kreacher will find the nasty thief and bring him here!”

The loud pop rings through the kitchen, and Regulus wonders how an hour is enough to already give him a headache again. He’s sure that he doesn’t even know half of it yet, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he actually wants to.


	3. What I'll Be Now

> _22/11/1976_
> 
> _Sirius,_
> 
> _[…] There are so many things people just expect from me; our parents and family, the people in Slytherin, and you as well. Everyone wants me to be a specific way, and nobody has ever, not even once, asked me what I want. And you know, the strangest thing is that I don’t even know, Sirius. How do you tell what is right and wrong? How do you not doubt your every move? I just want to be sure of something, anything, for once. […] _

* * *

It’s later that day that Regulus is wandering through the house, and now that he’s paying attention, he actually notices in how bad of a state Grimmauld Place is.

It’s never been particularly homey or even remotely close, but now it has a weird feeling of a mausoleum and is as deteriorated as their family seems to be. Somehow, he can’t find it within himself to care.

He’s just passing through the entrance hall when he has to cough from all the dust, and he jumps several feet high when next to him, a set of curtains fly open. A horrible voice starts screaming that he’d recognize anyway.

Walburga’s colourful insults come to an abrupt halt when her eyes land on him, and he swears that even though she’s a portrait, he can see her blanch. “You!” she whispers, then shakes her head, rubs her eyes, and keeps staring disbelievingly.

“Hello, mother,” he says with a sigh and leans against one of the walls. Better to get this over with.

She scowls. “You’re dead.”

He thinks how it tells a lot that her first reaction to discovering he’s probably not dead is contemptuous disbelief.

One day might not be nearly enough to get used to suddenly living in 1997 or to find out how he’s even here, but it works well enough for putting things into perspective. Compared to a near-death experience in the Dark Lord’s personal torture cave, the threat of Walburga Black looks rather tame. Especially when she’s nothing but a portrait that has seen better days.

He makes a show of looking down on himself, flexing his fingers, and then shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” she immediately sneers, her eyes narrowing in the way that’s always been a sure sign of her getting dangerously close to losing her temper, and he sighs.

“I have no intention to fight with you, considering that unlike me, you are dead,” he states bluntly and smiles when a flush creeps over her cheeks. “But, to be fair, everyone thought I was dead, and we’re still not sure how I’m actually here, apart from a strong assumption that there’s time-travel involved.”

His explanation seems to placate her somewhat, and she leans forward like she wants to make sure they’re not overheard. “Regulus, you’ve always been responsible and knew your place. I hope I can trust you to take care of the filth that has invaded our noble house?”

Ah, that’s what she’s aiming for, he should have known. He swallows the bitter taste that leaves down and inclines his head. “Of course, mother. Do you think we should start with your portrait? It does look rather filthy, don’t you think?”

She stares at him, and then her eyes flash and her hand flies to where she used to keep her wand. “You insolent, little boy! I’ll teach you to make fun of your mother!” she screeches, and Regulus is surprised that his only reflex is to laugh at her.

“Mother, you’re nothing but a portrait. If your great plan isn’t to scream at me until I off myself in annoyance – and I’m going to tell you now, that is a rather unlikely outcome – then you can’t do anything. Funny how those roles have changed, isn’t it?” His heart is racing in his chest but it’s also _fun_ and relieving and he wonders if this is how Sirius felt, all those times he baited their mother until she lost all control.

Not that he’d be this obnoxious if she could actually curse him – he did keep his self-preservation, after all.

She’s just starting to get back into a string of loud insults and threats, but he thinks that’s been rather enough for one day and flicks his wand to shut the curtains. The sudden silence feels as strange as it is relief, and after a moment of consideration, he adds a permanent sticking charm to the curtains for good measure.

If you can’t get rid of them, beat them with their own weapons, and all that.

He probably shouldn’t feel this satisfied with himself, but he doesn’t fight the small smile as he climbs the stairs up to the library. It’s always been his favourite room in the house, which is why he kept it for last.

Or well – favourite makes it sound as if he actually likes it, but at least it has always been his refuge when he couldn’t stand his own room any longer.

When he steps through the door, he stops in his tracks though and stares around with a mix of disbelief and dread. There are not even half of the original contents left, and together with the dirt and neglect that he has come to expect, it makes a pitiful picture.

“I have a theory,” a voice speaks up, making him jump. Really, he needs to do something about being startled so easily.

Another look around reveals the bushy top of a head behind several large stacks of books and he slowly walks around them to sit down in the armchair across from Hermione. “About what?” he asks, trying to get a glimpse of the parchment that’s scattered around her.

“Hm?” She finally tears her eyes away from her notes to look at him. “Oh, sorry. I have a theory about how you’ve come here, though it’s still rather hypothetical.”

“It’s something,” he says, not certain how much he can possibly expect but curious nonetheless.

She watches him for a moment, and he remembers what he overheard this morning. He still doesn’t blame her for not trusting him, but he’d like to know what she’s thinking right now.

“You created the ritual to deliver all the necessary information, right?” she says after the silence stretches for just a beat too long.

At his nod, she pulls a few sheets of parchment out of her mess and hands them to him. “And it was supposed to be used after the locket is destroyed – so, how was that supposed to work? There’s a note that you planned to tie a bond between the locket, Kreacher, and the information, basically – but you didn’t write down how, exactly?”

He barely hears the last part of what she’s saying though, staring down at his own notes while he’s going back over everything that happened in the cave.

“What I think is that ‘delivering the information,’ in this case, means you. I just don’t get why it happened because even though I don’t know how the bond worked, it shouldn’t have affected you personally, in any way,” she goes on, oblivious to the sudden distress he’s feeling.

It’s only now that he remembers; how he had to repeat the spell several times because the potion made it near impossible to focus on anything; how his attention had slipped, over and over, because all he could think of was that he didn’t want to die, that there were still so many things he had to make up for, that this whole plan was madness –

“I think I know what happened,” he interrupts her quietly, without taking his eyes off the mess of Runes and numbers. For a second, he considers lying, but it’d be impossible to come up with another explanation, and even though he’s rather tired of all the mind-games, giving the truth about something as important as this might win him a bit of trust.

She breaks off and stays silent, and he can feel her gaze on him. “Your theory is good, by the way,” he starts, but quickly shakes his head to focus again. “I think you’re right, and what brought me here is that when I created the bond, I more or less accidentally tied myself into it.”

“You – but why – that’s completely irresponsible!” she exclaims, and when he finally looks up at her, her eyes are narrowed and her brows furrowed. “That’s dangerous and selfish, and – “

“Hermione?” A voice from the door speaks up, and they both whip their heads around at the sudden sound.

Regulus is rather glad for the interruption, though when he sees Harry and Sirius in the door, he’s not sure if it’s going to get much better. It’s not even that he disagrees – for all intents and purposes, she’s completely right, and he’s lucky that he didn’t end up completely torn apart, or something worse he refuses to imagine. The problem is that he has no idea how to explain to any of them that he didn’t do it on purpose but that he doesn’t exactly regret it either.

“We found out how Regulus is here,” she says, and her voice is trembling with barely constrained anger. “Sirius, remember the bond? He tied himself into it.”

Sirius’ eyes widen and he quickly crosses the distance between them, snatching the parchment from Regulus.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Regulus finally says, and he has to fight to keep the annoyance down that’s starting to gnaw at him. “I had to do the spell after I drank the potion, and I barely remember how I managed at all.”

“So, you mean to tell me you _accidentally_ tied yourself in? I’m sorry, but that’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” Hermione says, and Sirius is looking at him with that kind of mistrust he remembers way too well but which he hasn’t seen since he arrived.

Only years of experience let him suppress his first impulse to just snap at them how _they_ should try the potion and then cast complicated self-invented spells, and then he considers if he should get over his pride and tell them all about the regret and self-loathing that suffocated him even before he’s been dragged into the lake. 

He doesn’t have to do either because Harry clears his throat. “I think it makes sense,” he says quietly, his head tilted and his gaze fixed on Hermione. “Even Dumbledore had difficulties to conjure flames to…”

“To _what_?” Sirius says sharply when Harry doesn’t go on, now fidgeting and staring at the floor.

“To save me when the Inferi dragged me underwater,” he finally says with a sigh, and Regulus has to swallow at the mere idea that someone else had to experience the same horrible, nightmare-inducing feeling of dead fingers digging into skin, of pure terror and the absolute conviction that this is how he’s going to die.

The silence is heavy and oppressive and only breaks when Sirius exhales in a rush, mutters, “The old man can be glad he’s already dead,” and then quickly leaves the room.

Harry meets Regulus’ eyes for a moment and smiles weakly, before looking back at Hermione. “I know I didn’t tell you much because of the whole Death Eaters invading Hogwarts-disaster afterwards, but I think it’s believable. That potion was vile, and even though I have absolutely no idea how any of this works, he was much too surprised to… well. Be alive.”

Regulus doesn’t know what to make of this, of being defended by someone he barely knows, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little touched. And worried. Really, really worried that a teenager had the same experience as him.

Not that he isn’t a teenager, strictly speaking, but he can’t help but think that it’s different, and there are at least ten new questions on his list of things he desperately wants to have an answer to, starting with ‘Death Eaters invading Hogwarts’.

Hermione and Harry look at each other for several moments before she sighs and nods. “Okay then, I believe you. Let’s just hope that you didn’t mess up some time-continuum or whatever.”

* * *

After that matter is settled, he and Hermione get along surprisingly well. She obviously can’t help but ask him countless questions about how he came up with the different rituals, spells, and bonds, and he’s more delighted than he cares to admit to have someone who’s just as enthusiastic about the whole topic as he is.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, and after they’ve exhausted their first topic, she shows him the book Dumbledore apparently left her in his will, and they work on the Rune-translation for some of the stories.

It only adds to his curiosity about Dumbledore’s weird interest in these three teenagers, but he thinks it’s probably better to not ask too many questions, less he reawakens the suspicion that’s most likely still lingering under the surface

When dinnertime arrives, Kreacher still isn’t back, and Regulus has to force himself not to worry. Ever since the Dark Lord took him to the cave, he’s been terrified that Kreacher’s continued existence will be noticed and the elf is going to pay for his selfishness with his life after all.

He knows it’s irrational – the likeliness that the Dark Lord even remembers the name, much less the appearance, is below zero, especially seeing that it’s been over a decade. But rationality doesn’t help all that much with the still-standing issue of getting used to the fact that he bloody _time-travelled._

It doesn’t help either that the others seem to be as tense as he is, and after dinner, Sirius disappears with a few muttered words about getting his motorbike, while the rest of them move into the sitting room. Hermione disappears into her books, and Regulus is just resigning himself to a long evening when Ron nudges him. “You know how to play chess?”

“More or less,” he says with a grin and doesn’t hesitate to move over so that the coffee table stands between them.

Ron is ridiculously good, and their matches drag out for so long that they have to take breaks in between, but it keeps his mind off other things. Not to mention that it’s been a long time since he played against anyone, much less someone who poses a real challenge.

When the clock strikes midnight and there’s still no sign of Kreacher, they all decide to go to bed, and Regulus lingers for a moment on the top-landing, staring at Sirius’ door. His brothers’ absence doesn’t help with his overall worry, and at the same time, it’s a weird thought that they’re both here again.

He shakes himself out of it and makes a mental note to ask Sirius why he’s staying here at all; somehow, he can’t imagine that it’s nostalgia.

Of course, sleep doesn’t come as easily as he would have liked, but he doesn’t want to take a potion again either. When tossing and turning only worsens his restlessness, he eventually relents and gets back out of bed. Maybe he can find a book to bore himself to sleep.

The house is dark and silent, and he doesn’t expect to encounter anyone, which leads him to frown when he sees a sliver of light underneath the door to the sitting room.

When he pushes the door open carefully and slips inside, he finds Harry lying on one of the couches, a Snitch hovering over him. At the sound of the door, he turns his head and smiles faintly. “Can’t sleep?”

Regulus shakes his head. “Not really. Mind if I join you?”

Harry pulls himself into a sitting position and leans against the armrest before snatching the snitch out of the air and gesturing for him to sit.

He sits down at the other end of the couch and watches as Harry lets the Snitch free before catching it again. “Your father used to do that,” Regulus says before he can stop himself, and immediately wants to hit himself. Way to go on being sensitive about someone’s dead parents.

To his surprise, Harry just grins. “I know. I’ve heard he was a bit of a prick in school,” he says dryly, then glances at him curiously. “You played Seeker too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but as far as I know, your father played Chaser, which only made the whole thing with the Snitch…” he trails off. It’s one thing for Harry to call his own, dead father ‘a bit of a prick’ – and wouldn’t he like to know the story behind that – but that doesn’t mean he should have the same attitude.

“More ridiculous?” Harry offers, still grinning. “And yeah, I know. But I played Seeker, it’s what I meant.” A wistful expression crosses his face before he seems to shake it off. “I only know because Slughorn showed me a picture, and I saw another one when I searched for the locket.”

It reminds him that Harry has read his letters, and the thought makes him vaguely uncomfortable. He seems nice enough, but Regulus has never been a particularly open person and those letters were never meant to be seen by anyone; much less someone he doesn’t know and now has to talk to.

“I’m sorry that I’ve read them,” Harry says, frowning and staring at his hands. “I mostly wanted to find out where the locket is, but I should have given them to Sirius, at least.”

Regulus sighs and rubs his forehead before sinking a bit deeper into the cushions. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not a particularly nice thought but I probably would have done the same. What I’m wondering though is why you of all people are searching for Horcruxes.”

“Why not me?” Harry asks, and there’s a sudden challenge in his voice that reminds him of the way he spoke to Kreacher.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re barely off age and should finish your final year at Hogwarts, while there are several adults who would be much better equipped to handle something as dangerous as this?” he says dryly, refusing to back down. He thinks it’s a rather fair question, but he’s also convinced that there’s more to Harry’s whole story than he can even guess.

The Dark Lord might be a maniac, but there’s just something very strange about the obsession he seems to have with this scrawny boy. Even if he blames him for his downfall, the length he went to, to have him at the resurrection, seems ridiculous considering Harry was merely a toddler.

“Like you, you mean?” Harry retorts with raised eyebrows, and there’s the shadow of a smirk that catches him so much by surprise that he laughs.

“Fair enough, though I’d like to say that the adults in my life would have run off to the Dark – to You-Know-Who if they only so much as suspected what I was planning to do,” he says, and he really tries to make it sound nonchalant, but it doesn’t work. He can hear the strain in his voice himself.

Harry doesn’t look at him with pity though. “Yeah, adults are rarely as useful as they claim to be,” is all he says, and there’s a lot of resignation underneath those words.

Regulus decides not to address that. “So? Why you?”

Harry sighs and watches him for long moments before he shrugs. “Dumbledore told me to, is the easy answer.”

That’s… not an answer. He says as much and ignores the scowl on Harry’s face. Instead, he goes on, “Which reminds me – why you, in general? Why is the – why is You-Know-Who so set on you?”

“What do you mean?” Harry says, too quickly, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Regulus says, suddenly tired, and he closes his eyes. “I’m just – curious, I guess. Wary, too. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go from here. I want to help, of course, but I barely understand what happened over the last decade.”

“But we’ve already told you a lot,” Harry says, and even without looking at him, Regulus can hear the frown in his tone.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. “Harry, just imagine you’re suddenly ten years in the future. Imagine you just arrived here and now, and then consider what you’ve told me. I mean sure, I know that the Dark Lord vanished for some time and the brunt of how that happened, and I know that you and your friends and my brother are fighting against him and that there are still Horcruxes. But that’s about it. I have no idea of this world, and to me, it feels like I’ve just gone to the bloody cave yesterday. Only to hear that it was for nought, actually only made things more difficult. Not to mention that I have no idea who you are, and you basically know everything about me.”

It’s much more than he meant to say, but it sums up his current feelings rather nicely. And if the sudden understanding in Harry’s eyes is anything to go by, it at least worked.

Harry is silent for some time before he exhales in a rush and sits up straighter. “Alright, I’m – I’m going to trust you here because you’re right. I know much more about you than I should, and it’s only fair to even the playing field a bit, right?”

Regulus doesn’t bother to hide his grin. “Let me guess, you’re a Gryffindor.”

“Anyway,” Harry says pointedly but he’s grinning, so Regulus counts it as a win. “Voldemort didn’t attack my parents because he was after them. He was after me, even back then.”

That manages to snap Regulus out of his tired, complacent mood and he sits up straight. “But you were a toddler, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry just smiles wryly. “True, but there was a Prophecy about a child that would vanish the Dark Lord, and it could have been about me, or another boy. He only knew half of it, but he eventually picked me because I’m a half-blood like him – “

“What?” It’s out before he can help himself, and he thinks that this is slowly becoming his trademark.

“Oh yeah, Tom Riddle, born to Merope Gaunt, nearly a squib, and Tom Riddle, Muggle and drugged with a Love Potion. Ironic, isn’t it?” Harry says as if it’s a mere offhand-comment, but it’s obvious that he’s watching him closely for his reaction.

Regulus can do nothing but stare while Harry doesn’t look like he’s taking much pity on him.

“He attacked us to kill me, and that he failed only added to his… I don’t know, a grudge is a bit harmless. He tried coming back in my first year, but I stopped him. In second year, Lucius Malfoy gave one of his Horcruxes to a first-year student and he nearly came back as his charming teenage-self, but I stopped him again. In my fourth year, he managed, but I got away, just as I did in fifth year. Last year, he had a student work for him, and Death Eaters attacked the school. Snape killed Dumbledore, and well – here we are. Dumbledore is convinced that I have to defeat him, so really – what else am I supposed to do?”

His voice becomes quiet towards the end and there’s an air of desperation to him that makes Regulus’ chest clench.

“That’s – that’s horrible,” is all he manages.

Harry only shrugs. “It’s all I know, really. Or at least it is since I’ve entered the wizarding world, anyway. All these people expect me to save them. Which is not to say that their opinion of me doesn’t change on a whim but, well. I don’t want any more of my friends to die, Dumbledore taught me all of last year about Tom Riddle’s past, so here I am. I never wanted Hermione and Ron to join me, but they’re stubborn like that.”

Regulus stares, and then he stares some more, and there’s a part of him that wonders how he could have ever been of the opinion that he had it bad. At the same time, he knows that he can hardly compare the two of them.

“I’ll help you.” He didn’t mean to say that; he really, really didn’t, but the moment it leaves his lips, he knows that there isn’t any other way. Not because he doesn’t know what to do with himself, but because this boy is going to need all the help he can get. And some support – someone who doesn’t expect him to be the hero he so clearly doesn’t want to be.

Harry just snorts though and raises his eyebrows at him. “No offence, but – are you sure? It’s not as heroic as you might make it out to be.”

“And all my past actions are so clearly orientated on playing the hero, are they?” he shoots back, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t help but grin back. “You’re way too young to carry all this, much less fight in this war at all, really.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re barely a year older than me,” Harry says, his tone teasing as his shoulders relax and his eyes become less haunted.

Regulus leans back as well and pulls his feet up on the couch. “Be that as it may, I started to fight in this war at 16, so I had to grow up faster. Granted, on the wrong side, but seriously, war is war.”

“Regulus,” Harry says, exasperated, looking at him like he’s stupid. “I had to start in my first year. Just who do you think you’re talking to? Not to mention that this is a rather stupid competition.”

He can’t help it; the laugh bubbles out of him on its own, and he presses a hand against his mouth to stifle it, but to no avail.

It only gets worse when Harry joins him, and Regulus thinks that, despite all the confusion and overwhelming mess of suddenly being here, he feels better than he has in a long time.

“Alright,” he finally says after a few deep breaths. “Let’s agree that we both know what we’re getting ourselves into. I’m not saying you couldn’t do it on your own but I think I could be of help. Not to mention that there’s this little issue where I can hardly walk up to the Order and offer myself up, can I?”

Harry grins at him, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling in the dim firelight. “I’d love to see you try, though.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

Harry tilts his head, his fingers drawing aimless patterns into the couch. “It would have been funnier if Mad-Eye was still there,” he says with a sigh, and then he turns sober, pinning him with a look that a person his age shouldn’t be capable of. “I don’t want to put anyone else into danger. You would be much safer staying here, hidden.”

Regulus opens his mouth to protest but clicks his jaw shut when Harry shakes his head.

“But I understand why you wouldn’t want to. I think you probably know better what to expect than we do, or at least Ron and Hermione. Don’t get me wrong, they’re great, but they’ve never met him. So, I think if you want to help us, it could really work in our favour. But if you betray us, Sirius is going to be the first one I tell, and I won’t appeal to his common sense like I did when he wanted to murder Pettigrew.”

It’s not nice; it’s not a blanket permission of trust or good-will, but Regulus thinks that he can deal with this better than he would have, otherwise.

“I won’t,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry’s, and somehow this feels more final, more monumental than any other promise he’s ever made.

* * *

Kreacher isn’t back the next day either, and the nervousness slowly seeps into every corner and shadow of the house. Harry keeps walking up and down, Ron is playing with the little artefact he got from Dumbledore, turning the lights on and off at random intervals and driving Hermione mad in the process, and Sirius spends half of the day outside, smoking and ignoring Harry’s needling about checking up on the rest of the Order.

It’s after dinner and they’re all but Harry sitting in the sitting room in varying stages of annoyance and agitation, when there’s a thump from downstairs.

Everyone jumps up immediately, but before Regulus can move, both Sirius and Hermione glare at him. “That’s most likely someone from the Order, and if we don’t want to answer a bunch of very annoying questions, including but not limited to why we have a Death Eater in the house who is supposed to be dead, you should stay here,” Sirius says, and regardless of how much he hates it, he can’t argue with that.

The three of them scramble out of the room, the wands in their hands doing nothing to calm his nerves, and he starts pacing up and down in front of the hearth. Logically, he knows that there’s no way that someone who would mean them harm would make it into the house.

Realistically, he learned early on to trust nobody. And the fact that there have been two traitors in the Order – Harry has told him about Severus Snape, and he remembers the slimy idiot from his own school days – doesn’t help matters. At all.

Still, there’s nothing he can do, and when he hears raised voices from downstairs, he has to ball his hands into fists and bite his tongue to stay where he is.

The front door slams, there are hurried footsteps, the front door slams again. When he looks out of the window, he can see the cloaked figures at the other side of Grimmauld Place move like they’ve seen something before they fall back again.

Finally, the door to the sitting room opens and Harry comes in, his lips pressed into a thin line and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You can come downstairs,” is all he says before turning on his heel and stomping down the stairs again.

The silence in the kitchen is tense, and he stays in the doorway to take in the scene. Ron and Hermione are standing together and seem to communicate through looks alone, while Harry is leaning against one of the counters with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You shouldn’t have said those things,” Hermione finally addresses Harry, who scowls and somehow still manages to look scolded.

“Sirius agreed with me,” he remarks, and Regulus thinks that he’s not the only one who doesn’t consider that the best argument in his favour. “Remus can’t – he can’t just _leave_ Tonks, and I’m sure my father would agree with me. Should I have said yes, sure Remus, come Horcrux hunting with us?”

Before any of them can answer, there’s a loud crack that makes them all jump and pull their wands. A mess of tangled limbs scrambles on the kitchen floor and after a moment, Kreacher emerges.

There’s a struggle, and the man Kreacher appeared with fumbles for his wand, but Hermione’s “Expelliarmus,” catches him before he can even get close.

Harry is next to him faster than Regulus can blink, his wand pressed to the forehead of a shabby-looking man with dirty, torn robes. He tenses when he notices Harry, but his eyes flicker through the kitchen until they land on Regulus.

He thinks he shouldn’t be here. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Kreacher found the thief!” the elf announces proudly, and it finally clicks. Yeah, he should be anywhere but here.

“What do you want from me! Having your elf hunt me down! I swear, I didn’t mean for Mad-Eye to die but You-Know-Who was just there, anyone would have run – “

“We didn’t,” Hermione interrupts, her wand still trained on him and cold anger blazing in her eyes.

Regulus doesn’t know if it’s worrying or impressive, the way all three of them look like they could murder him on a seconds-notice if he tried anything stupid.

“You’re not here to talk about Moody,” Harry interrupts before who has to be Mundungus can answer.

“What then? I swear I didn’t – “

“Shut up!” Harry snaps, and his wand digs into Mundungus’ forehead so harshly that one of his eyebrows fizzles away.

Suddenly, Kreacher is there with a frying pan, hitting the ratty man over the head, and it’s only when Regulus sharply calls for him to stop that he takes a step back.

Hermione looks alarmed, Harry and Ron merely amused.

Regulus makes a note to not underestimate this boy. It is one thing to hear fractures of stories about his encounters with the Dark Lord – something he still can’t seem to fit into a coherent picture within his own mind – it’s another to see him like this, all righteous anger and cold control. Right now, Regulus can imagine it, and it’s weirdly attractive.

“When you stole the stuff from the house – “

“That again? Sirius doesn’t care about any of this – “

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“Alright, alright, what do you want, then?”

“You stole things from the cupboard in this kitchen. There was a locket,” Harry says, and Regulus finds his own anticipation mirrored on Ron’s and Hermione’s faces.

Mundungus looks at Harry shrewdly, apparently becoming increasingly unconcerned with the wand that’s still hovering inches from his face. “What, was it valuable?”

Hermione scoffs, and Harry seems to become even more alert. “So, you still have it?”

Ron answers before Mundungus even gets the chance. “He just wonders if he should have gotten more for it.”

It’s an astute guess, but Mundungus only rolls his eyes. “I didn’t get anything for it. This old hag from the Ministry caught me in Diagon and said if I gave her the locket, she wouldn’t take me in for selling without a license.”

All the excitement leaves him in a rush and his hand clenches around his wand. Every time the locket seems to get further out of reach, all that worry and agitation he went through in his planning, all those horrors of the cave, seem more pointless to him.

He actually just complicated things, and regardless of knowing that it’s not really his fault, he can’t shake the feeling of guilt and frustration.

“Do you know who it was?” Harry presses, but the resignation in his voice is obvious, the angry tremble in his wand-hand already less pronounced. Mundungus seems to notice it as well because he slowly sits up, though not without a wary look at Kreacher who is still holding on to the frying pan while glaring viciously.

“No idea, she wore an ugly bow, a lot of pink. Looked like a toad.”

Regulus groans because that’s so not useful, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stare at each other, suddenly tense again, and Harry’s fingers run over the back of his right hand absent-mindedly.

“Well,” Ron finally breaks the silence. “That’s even worse than we could have expected.”

“Can I go now?” Mundungus interrupts, and Hermione turns to stare at him, then looks at Regulus, and back at Harry.

The three of them appear to have a whole, silent conversation, until Hermione sighs and nods. “Just one thing, Dung,” she says, pointing her wand at him. “Obliviate.”

Mundungus’ eyes glaze over, and before Regulus can even start to marvel at the sheer ruthlessness – not that he minds, but still – Harry takes him by the shoulders and manoeuvres him out of the kitchen.

“Better not take any chances, right?” he mutters as he pulls open the door to the drawing-room that has never been used even when his parents were still alive. “Wait here,” Harry instructs, and then he’s gone again.

Regulus only wonders what he has gotten himself into.

It doesn’t take long for Kreacher to fetch him, and he finds the other three sitting around the kitchen table and a mug of tea waiting for him.

“Where’s Sirius, by the way?” he asks as he takes the chair in front of the fire, and Harry sighs. “He followed Remus after I told him that he’s a coward for considering to leave his pregnant wife.”

“It’s kind of a dick-move, but why a coward, exactly?” he asks, blowing into the steaming tea carefully and ignoring the exasperated looks from Hermione and Ron. He feels like there’s a story here, and doesn’t that happen much too often ever since he has landed himself here.

Harry fidgets in his chair before he sighs and leans back. “He’s a werewolf – “

“Harry!”

“Oh, come on Hermione. He knows about Horcruxes and the Prophecy, do you really think that Remus being a werewolf is going to be the final straw?” Harry exclaims, and Hermione huffs but doesn’t say anything else. “He’s convinced that he basically cursed her and the child, and wanted to come with us, not even knowing what we’re planning to do. I basically told him he’s a coward and to suck it – “

Whatever else Harry says doesn’t reach Regulus as his eyes fall onto a copy of the Daily Prophet. The whole frontpage is taken up by a picture of Harry, the headline declaring that he’s searched for his involvement in Dumbledore’s death. “What the hell,” he mutters, and when he looks up, Harry looks confused before he seems to understand.

“Oh yes, they need an excuse to question every single person that could possibly know where I am,” he says, his voice trembling with anger as his eyes flash.

“But why pretend? Didn’t you say the Ministry has fallen?” he asks, trying to make sense of this. The lack of knowledge about what is going on is wearing on him, no matter how many times he tells himself that it’s to be expected.

Hermione sighs, but it’s Ron who speaks up. “Remus said the takeover is silent, that officially, Scrimgeour resigned. Muggleborn are expected to register themselves now and while people whisper and suspect over the drastic changes of policies, nobody dares to speak up. The public doesn’t even know that there was another mass-breakout from Azkaban, and that happened before the Ministry fell, so…”

He doesn’t bother to hide his grimace. Even without having all the information, there’s no doubt that this is a disaster. The Dark Lord in control of the Ministry will make their mission so much more difficult, and he doesn’t want to start thinking about Azkaban, or the lack thereof, at all.

“Putting Harry into a bad light helps,” Hermione says, a sharp edge to her tone that once again confirms his thought that she’d do anything for her friends – they all would. To his surprise, he’s not jealous the way he remembers being of Sirius and his friends. “He’s the hero everybody counts on, and planting suspicion, well.”

Harry clears his throat. “Anyway, nothing we can do about it. Let’s talk about Umbridge, it’s more important.”

It’s an obvious attempt at changing the topic, but he decides not to pry. “Who?” he asks instead and notes how Harry rubs the back of his right hand again.

“She has the locket,” Ron explains, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “And she’s a horrible bitch – “

“Ron!”

“Oh come off it, Hermione. You know what she did. If anybody deserves to be called – “

“Guys!” Harry interrupts, but his exasperation has a fondness to it that’s impossible to miss. “She taught at Hogwarts in our fifth year, keeping an eye on me and Dumbledore.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Ron grumbles, but Harry ignores him.

“She’s horrible, and I can absolutely see her striving under Voldemort’s new regime. That she’s the one who has the locket, well… Guess we will have to sneak into the Ministry.”

Regulus instantly chokes on air and needs several moments to get rid of his coughing-fit. “That’s _madness_ ,” he says disbelievingly when he can finally breathe again. “You’ve just told me that You-Know-Who took over and that you’re the most-searched person in Britain – “

“Hermione is searched too, for not registering herself as a Muggleborn,” Harry interrupts him, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin raised. “Ron should be sick at home, and you should be dead. I’d say we make a great team.”

A part of Regulus wants to believe that he’s joking, but there’s too much determination in his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be easier to find out where she lives, or follow her? The only place worse to be would be wherever You-Know-Who has his base,” he tries, acutely aware of the desperation in his own voice. It’s rather fair, he thinks, all things considered.

Harry opens his mouth, looking ready to protest, but Hermione silences him with a look before she turns to Regulus. “That’s not a bad idea, definitely less risky. Maybe let us watch the Ministry in the coming days to determine what has the highest chance of success?”

“But that’s just as – how do you plan on watching the Ministry?”

Finally, Harry’s expression softens and melts into a self-satisfied smile. “Why, with my Invisibility Cloak, of course.”

“Did you, by any chance, inherit that from your father?” Regulus sighs, although he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. It just explains so, so much.

A grin is all the response he gets before Harry turns serious again. “I’m fine with watching the Ministry, we would have to do that either way. But I doubt that Umbridge leaves by foot, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“My, aren’t you a cheery one,” Regulus mutters, but if he’s honest, he’s not optimistic either. It would be just too convenient.

* * *

It’s later that night that Regulus finds Harry in the sitting room again, the Snitch hovering by his side while he traces the scars on the back of his hand.

“What happened there?” he can’t help but ask when he sits down next to Harry’s feet, who tenses in response like he’s realising only now what he’s doing.

After a beat of hesitation, he holds his hand out to Regulus and clenches it into a fist. _‘I must not tell lies,’_ stands out against his tanned skin, written in a messy scrawl, and Regulus’ chest clenches at the same time as anger curls through him, catching him by surprise.

He knows what that is, or at least what caused it, and there’s a sudden desire to know who did this and to make them pay. He’s not quite sure what to think of it.

“She had some unique teaching methods,” Harry says quietly, and only when he pulls his hand back does Regulus notice that he was holding his wrist.

Letting his hand drop into his lap, he stares into the fire, trying to put the pieces together. “I assume you mean Umbridge, who taught in your fifth year – so when the Ministry wanted to make sure nobody believes you or Dumbledore, right? So that was _her_?” he finally says, and the way Harry sighs and bows his head in acknowledgement does nothing for his anger.

“It’s not like I’m the only one she did this to,” Harry says with a shrug as if that’s an actual excuse.

Regulus fights down his glare though; he knows well enough that thinking ‘but others have it worse, or just as bad,’ sometimes helps. He averts his eyes, leans his head back and exhales slowly. “Well,” he says when he’s sure that he can keep the fury that’s still simmering underneath his skin out of his voice. “At least we don’t have to worry about her being influenced negatively by the locket. That’s right up her alley.”

Harry snorts and nudges him with his foot, but he doesn’t protest. He also doesn’t have to know that Regulus won’t hesitate to give her a taste of her own medicine if he ever gets the chance.

“Do you think Dumbledore was a good man?” Harry breaks the silence that has settled between them, and Regulus bites his tongue to not snort or choke.

He glances at him, and there’s a deep crease between his brows. “That’s a… loaded question,” he answers carefully. They might get along well enough, but he’s not convinced that this is something he should offer his honest opinion on. Not yet, at least.

Harry huffs. “Such a Slytherin thing to say. I just mean – I don’t know. I thought that I knew him, but… Since he died, I’ve heard and read things that make me think I didn’t, and I – I don’t know how to talk about this with Ron or Hermione, or even Sirius,” he says, and regardless of how quiet his voice is, frustration is unmistakable in his every word.

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s just –“ Harry breaks off again, shifts on the couch, and sighs. “I realised that I know nearly nothing about him. We always talked about me, about the war. I didn’t even know that he lived in the same village my parents did, or that he had a sister who died young and was hidden by their mother because she was most likely a squib, and I just – it suddenly feels like he never… He could have told me, he could have told us what to do with the things he left us in his will, instead of always being cryptid and just…“

Regulus waits, but Harry stays silent while his fingers tap a restless rhythm against his leg.

“I think… Well, I can’t say that I knew Dumbledore in any capacity but headmaster,” he starts, weighing his every word. “The things I’ve heard are hardly unbiased, but I think that he was a smart man who knew how to twist things in his favour. Who lived through two wars and had very strong convictions of how things should be. He thought strategically, mostly, as most leaders do. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Well, that’s better than just insisting that I have to choose what to believe,” Harry says with a deep sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I know that what Skeeter writes is a load of shit, I had the pleasure in fourth year, but – I don’t know. I just want the truth, I guess.”

Regulus turns his head to look at him and smiles wryly. “Choose what to believe? How’s that supposed to work?”

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” Harry grumbles, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips and he relaxes back into the cushions. “But it’s basically what everyone told me when I brought this up.”

“Must be a Gryffindor thing.”

“Oi!” Harry laughs, and he can’t help the grin that creeps over his face at the sound. “Thanks, for – “

They’re interrupted when the door opens and Sirius comes in, stopping when he notices the two of them. “Well, don’t you look cosy,” he mutters before plopping down across from them.

“How did it go with Remus?” Harry asks, obviously choosing to ignore the comment, and all the ease seems to have left him in an instant.

Sirius kicks his boots off and shifts his head from left to right. “Let’s just say that he’ll get there. He’s always been complicated when it came to that particular topic, and you know how Tonks had to wear him down.”

“Well, it’s stupid,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Am I arguing with you?” Sirius asks with a raised brow and grins at Harry’s huff. “Anything interesting happened while I was gone?”

Harry uncrosses his arms again and lets his head drop back. “Kreacher came back with Dung. Umbridge has the locket.”

A growl escapes Sirius, and Regulus sees the anger he still feels reflected on his brothers’ face. “What’s the plan, then?”

Regulus opens his mouth to answer, but Harry presses his foot against his leg again.

“We’ll wait and see. It’s not like there’s a lack of Horcruxes to go after, we figure something out.”

Sirius nods and pulls himself up. “Sounds disgustingly reasonable. I’m knackered, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

After they’ve said their goodnights, he disappears from the room. Regulus waits until he can hear the door shut upstairs before he turns to stare at Harry with a raised brow. “What the hell was that about?”

Harry scrunches up his nose and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just – you know he would refuse to let us go alone, but if he comes, he’s going to do something rash and stupid and get himself caught or something. I’ve already nearly lost him once – twice if you count the Dementor-disaster in third year. I’d rather not repeat that particular experience.”

It makes sense, but – “You barely know me, what tells you that _I_ won’t do something stupid?”

“You’re the brother with the self-preservation,” Harry says with a shrug. “Not to mention that you have no reason to do something stupidly heroic when things go wrong, and I doubt that I can convince you to stay here.”

“You know, it’s not very reassuring that you say ‘ _when’_ something goes wrong, not ‘ _if’_ ,” he remarks dryly, ignoring the rest of the statement for now.

“Oh, believe me, there’s always something that goes wrong,” Harry grins, but then he turns serious and pins him with a look. “But you really don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You didn’t really get a choice, turning up here – “

“I know,” he interrupts. “But I want to. Being able to witness Sirius’ fit afterwards is just a bonus, really.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“You’re the one baiting the dog, I’m just here to watch the show,” he shoots back, and there’s just something about this easy banter that makes talking to Harry ridiculously comfortable.

Harry’s foot presses against his thigh again, and when he turns his head, he’s smiling softly. “Thanks for not saying anything. You didn’t have to – I mean, he’s your brother, and you barely know me.”

That makes him swallow, and he averts his gaze again. “Yeah, and you already seem more responsible than he does, so really – “

A loud laugh interrupts him, and it takes several moments until Harry catches himself. “I can’t wait to see for how long you’re going to hold on to _that_ belief,” he says, and Regulus thinks that he should be more concerned, but somehow, he’s unable to bring himself to worry.


	4. Baby, Here's Where We Begin

> _Hogwarts, 21/01/1977_
> 
> _Sirius,_
> 
> _[…] I wouldn’t admit that for the life of me, but I wish I had friends like you. It’s so easy to see how much you can be yourself, how much they actually care for you – not because of your name or your family, but because they genuinely like you. They’d do anything for you without expecting anything in return, even though you do nothing more than being your annoying self. ~~I hope you know how lucky you are.~~ […] _

* * *

Over the next days, they fall into a rhythm that finally lessens the feeling of being utterly lost. Of course, there are still a hundred questions Regulus wants to have an answer to, but the list is slowly getting shorter.

They start watching the Ministry, and he and Harry spend several hours every day by the public entrance, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak and noting down every little detail that could be important.

It should be tedious and annoying, but it’s just – not. Harry casts a Silencing Charm around them, and patiently answers his questions; he tells him about sixth year and all the memories Dumbledore showed him of Tom Riddle; how Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts at the end of the year, Dumbledore’s death, and how he decided to not return even before it became clear that Voldemort would take over the school as well.

They have to time their stake-outs with Sirius’ Order missions, but thankfully he’s also busy with making sure that Remus doesn’t run off again which makes it easier to keep him from getting suspicious. Regulus knows that he should probably be more conflicted about keeping their plan from him, but not only is he used to secrets, he can also see the logic in Harry’s argument. 

When they’re all home, he oftentimes has lengthy discussions with Hermione about Runes or books they’re reading in the hope of finding out about other artefacts that could possibly be Horcruxes, and he and Ron continue their chess matches.

If there wasn’t a war raging outside their door, it would be the most comfortable Regulus has been in – well, maybe ever. If he takes his time with Barty out of the equation, at least, and he tries to think about him as little as is possible.

No matter how hard he tries, the memories are tinged with regret and guilt and sadness, and he knows that if he allows himself to linger on it for too long, he’d probably give in to the temptation to curse the Death Eaters that keep a close eye on the house.

He and Harry are just returning from another day of staring at Ministry workers and Muggles when Regulus notices that their numbers have nearly tripled. “What the hell,” he mutters, and Harry nearly loses his footing when he turns to follow the direction of his gaze.

“Careful,” he says, only just catching him by the elbow underneath the cloak. “Let’s get inside first.”

As soon as the door closes behind them, they pull off the cloak, and Regulus can’t help his grin when the curtains to Walburga’s portrait ruffle but stay closed. The talent for Sticking Charms seems to run in the family. 

“It’s the first of September,” Harry says as they walk down into the kitchen, and Regulus would hit himself for forgetting if that was something he does.

“Do they honestly think you would just walk up to Hogwarts?” he says and smiles gratefully at Kreacher when he hands them glasses with cold Pumpkin Juice.

“Well,” Harry says with a grin, plopping down next to Hermione and Ron who are immersed in various sheets of parchment, covered in notes. “They’ve never been the brightest Lumos, have they?”

“Fair enough. Didn’t you nick a Prophet?”

Harry nods and pulls the newspaper out of his bag. “Not that any of you are going to like it,” he mutters with a tight voice, and they all lean over the table to catch a look.

“Merlin, but Snape really didn’t age well,” Regulus can’t help but say, and grins at Ron’s and Harry’s snort.

“They seriously made him headmaster?” Hermione exclaims, ever the focused one. “That’s ridiculous – he was the one who killed Dumbledore, can you imagine him in his office?”

Harry’s eyes tighten and his jaw sets, and Regulus wonders if it’s due to his anger at Snape or his on-going issues with Dumbledore. Probably both.

“And two Carrows are now teaching – Muggle Studies and Defence,” Hermione goes on, and Regulus’ grip on his glass tightens.

“He lets them teach?” It’s out before he can think better of it, but none of them seems to mind overly much.

Somehow, they’ve accepted his past much better than he has himself. He knows that it’s only because Harry read his letters and Ron and Hermione trust his judgement, but that doesn’t make it any less weird to him.

“Well,” Harry sighs after a moment. “Let’s just hope that the others will be fine. On another note – I think we should go tomorrow.”

Regulus’ head flies up and he stares at him incredulously.

“Harry – “ Hermione starts, her brows furrowed and her tone concerned.

Harry quickly shakes his head to cut her off though. “Seriously, Mione. We’ve been watching the Ministry for three weeks now, and it’s not going to get any better. We didn’t see Umbridge once, but we know several people who always come at the same time. We know that we need those weird coins and how to get in – there’s not much more we can do, and the longer we draw this out, the higher the chance we’ll get discovered before we can even try.”

Put like this, it makes sense, but it still seems like a suicide mission to Regulus, and if the look on Hermione’s face is anything to go by, she feels more or less the same.

“Will Sirius be gone tomorrow?” Ron asks with a questioning look at Harry and him, and he wonders when _that_ became a thing.

“No idea, I’ve only seen him shortly on some nights,” Harry says. “So, are we – “ He breaks off, his hand flying up to his forehead, and his face contorts like he’s in pain. Regulus frowns, only more so when he notices Hermione’s suspicious gaze resting on Harry.

“I have to – bathroom,” Harry presses out and stumbles out of the kitchen before any of them can answer.

They can hear the door slam, and Regulus turns towards the two of them with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that about?”

Ron and Hermione exchange a look, and Regulus wonders if that ever gets annoying to Harry as they seem to do that an awful lot.

Before they can answer, there are shouts seeping down to them and they all jump up so quickly that Ron’s chair clatters to the floor. They rush up the stairs and Hermione knocks on the bathroom door until Harry finally tears it open, looking white as a sheet with sweat glistening on his forehead.

Regulus isn’t sure if he only imagines it, but the strange scar seems even more pronounced than usual.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks in a pitiful attempt to appear nonchalant, and even from where Regulus stands, he can see the tension in Hermione’s shoulders increase further.

“You had a vision again, didn’t you?” she asks sharply, and Regulus does a mental double-take. Somehow, he can’t see Harry being a seer in any sense of the word, much less why Hermione would be angry about it.

Harry sits down on the edge of the bathtub and stares at the wall for long moments before he answers. “Fine, yes. And by now, he has probably murdered the woman and her whole family, just because she was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“Harry, you’re supposed to block those visions, Dumbledore told you to use Occlumency! You know what happened last time, and – “

“Mione, you know I suck at Occlumency, and at least – “

“You’re not even trying! It’s like you enjoy this weird connection you have with him – “

Something falls into place, and Regulus can feel his stomach turn while a part of him still refuses to accept the theory that’s just forming. A vision of the Dark Lord, obviously, and a connection. A survived Killing Curse, a Prophecy – he just has no idea how this is possible, but considering that he’s currently alive and in 1997, it’s one of his lesser worries.

“ – after Gregorovitch, the wandmaker. I don’t care what Dumbledore said, if I have a chance to know what he’s up to, I’m going to use it,” Harry is just saying when he finally pays attention again. “I think Voldemort wants to find out what my wand did when I left Privet Drive.”

Hermione huffs and throws her hands up. “Harry, your wand didn’t do anything, it was you, and I don’t know why you’re so set on denying that. Not to mention that you just told us a few weeks ago that Voldemort captured Ollivander too, and you really shouldn’t let him send you any more visions at all!”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Regulus speaks up when he sees Harry balling his hands into fists. “I’m not saying I have half an idea what you’re actually talking about but for the fact that Harry has visions of You-Know-Who and – wouldn’t it only be a potential problem if he acted on them?”

All three stare at him, and he nearly regrets opening his mouth at all, but Harry’s eyes are so grateful that he can’t really bring himself to.

Hermione is glaring though, and her lips are pursed. “Even if that’s true, it’s dangerous. And it doesn’t make sense for Harry to claim that his wand acted on his own, wands just don’t do that.”

He grimaces, but he knows that he can’t just say nothing. “Actually, depending on what core your wand has, it’s possible. Phoenix feather cores are known to act on their own if they have a strong bond with their owner and sense danger.”

“Really?” Harry asks as he gets up, a mixture of exhaustion and relief seeping into his expression. “How come I’ve never known that? How come Remus didn’t know that?”

Regulus shrugs and takes a step to the side to let them out of the bathroom. “Wandlore is a very secret profession, but my great-aunt – well, let’s just say she knew a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to know.”

“See, I told you I didn’t do it,” Harry says with a pointed look at Hermione, and Ron meets Regulus’ eyes for a moment, obviously sharing his exasperation at their fighting.

They exchange a brief, knowing smile before Ron turns back to the two of them. “Come on, if we want to go to the Ministry tomorrow, we should probably go over the plan again, right?”

It distracts Hermione perfectly, and they walk back into the kitchen where Kreacher serves them dinner. They repeat every little scrap of information they have so many times that he’s sure that he’s going to dream about it, and when he finally falls into bed, he feels like his brain is smoking.

Despite his exhaustion and knowing that the alarm will go off far too early the next day, he finds himself wandering down into the sitting room around midnight. He’s not surprised to find Harry in his usual spot and silently sits down next to him.

These nightly conversations have become another routine, and Harry is staying true to his promise to tell Regulus about himself to make up for reading his letters. Although, it doesn’t feel like he does it out of obligation and, strangely enough, Regulus minds less and less that Harry knows so much about him.

Maybe it’s because Harry never holds it over him, or maybe because it makes him feel like Harry understands him on a deeper level, even if he’d never admit that to anyone.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Kreacher pops into the room and hands them both a mug of tea without another word.

“It’s still weird that he’s suddenly so nice,” Harry mutters when they’re alone again, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

“Do you mind me asking why it was so tense between you to begin with?” Regulus asks, the question something he has wanted an answer to for some time now.

“You mean all those colourful insults he used to throw around aside?” Harry says with a snort but then settles deeper into the cushions and sighs. “Remember that I told you how Voldemort lured me into the Ministry at the end of my fifth year?”

He nods and pulls his feet onto the couch to curl up more comfortably.

“He sent me a vision – you have probably guessed from earlier that that’s something that can happen?” Harry goes on quietly, and his hands turn his mug around between them while his eyes are fixed on the fire.

“More or less, though I’m not sure that I understand how.”

Harry smiles mirthlessly. “Not only you. He sent me a vision that he had Sirius captured in the Ministry and, of course, I ran off to save him. A few months earlier, Sirius had shouted at Kreacher to get out after some fight or another, and he used the opportunity to visit dear Bellatrix and Narcissa, who then instructed him to tell me Sirius isn’t in the house when I call.”

Regulus’ mouth goes dry and he clenches his hands around the hot mug in his hands. “How can you…” he trails off, unable to put his thoughts into words. It’s the same question that sometimes bothers him when he thinks too much about his own presence here, and how someone like Harry can even look at him, much less talk to him like he’s a friend.

The look Harry sends him seems to say that he knows what he’s thinking. “Don’t get me wrong, I hated him for the longest time, and I’m not sure what I would have done if Sirius didn’t survive. But to some degree, I understand him. The way he was treated his whole life, then being alone in this house for years, only for Sirius to treat him like dirt as well – he just did what he knew best, probably what Walburga wanted him to do, anyway. He just wanted some positive attention.”

Downing half of his tea doesn’t do anything about the sudden lump in his throat, and only years of practice prevent his voice from breaking when he says, “Still, it would be more than understandable if you had kicked him out. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t, but any of you could have died.”

“Believe me, Sirius would have if he didn’t know too much about the Order,” Harry says. “But I think it’s obvious, at least since I gave him the locket and you arrived, that he just needed some kindness.”

It hits a little too close to home, even though he’s sure that Harry doesn’t mean it to, and he stares into the remains of his tea. “You’re just so…”

“Naïve?” Harry finishes, a distinct sharpness in his tone, and Regulus quickly looks over.

“No. Good, you’re just unbelievably good, and you don’t even seem to be aware of it,” he says quietly, and he’s just glad that nobody will ever know how much this honesty actually costs him.

Harry looks away with a frown, then sighs and puts his mug down. “I just know what it’s like, to feel like you’re alone,” he finally answers and gets up from the couch. “Come on, we should sleep. Tomorrow is going to be stressful enough, and I’d rather avoid running into Sirius tonight and having to lie to him.”

He ponders for a moment if he should push it; he has an inkling that Harry’s obvious refusal to accept what he just said is related to that weird connection to Voldemort. But at the same time, there’s also too much doubt about his own place here, about how much he belongs with three teenagers who have made so many better choices than he ever did, that he doesn’t think he would manage without saying even more things that make his stomach churn with anxiety.

It’s one thing to know that Harry has read letters he wrote what feels like years ago; it’s another to say them out loud, and so he just nods and follows him out of the room.

* * *

He doesn’t sleep well, and the others look as drawn as he feels when he steps into the kitchen the next morning. Hermione is shifting through her bag over and over while Ron tries to calm her down, and Harry just sits silently at the table and stares into thin air with a crease between his brows.

Regulus’ own heart is racing in his chest ever since he woke up, and his mind relentlessly provides him with all the scenarios how this can possibly go wrong. At the same time, there’s a certain anticipation and eagerness to finally do something more than just hiding under a cloak. To finally prove himself, just a little bit.

None of them eats much, but Kreacher accompanies them out of the door with promises about food for when they return, and Regulus and Harry wait until they can hear the pop of Disapparation before they step outside. They vanish as well, only to arrive in a narrow alley around the corner from the public entrance to the Ministry.

The two of them are hidden underneath the cloak, while Hermione and Ron cower behind bins with Disillusionment Charms.

“Right, there’s the small witch,” he can hear Hermione whisper, and the next second, a beam of red light hits a small, unsuspecting looking woman into the back.

Harry tugs at his arm so that he can spell open the door to an empty theatre they’ve discovered over the last few weeks, and Hermione disappears inside with the unconscious woman levitating in front of her.

Less than five minutes later, she comes out as the woman they’ve just stunned, now wearing an anxious expression. “I’m Mafalda Hopkirk, assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. Get ready, the Maintenance-guy should be here any second.”

There’s a mumbled “We know, Hermione,” from Ron, and then they fall silent as their second target pops into existence.

“Mafalda,” he greets when he sees Hermione, and the two of them walk a few steps until he suddenly starts vomiting all over the alley.

It looks like he’s still arguing with her, but eventually, she manages to get some of his hair and his bag, and sends him off to St Mungo’s.

Ron changes as well, and he and Hermione disappear to get the hair from another two Ministry workers for Harry and Regulus.

Regulus is still convinced that they should have just stunned all four of their targets and locked them in, but he was outvoted when Hermione argued that it could raise too many questions. He’s not sure how four stunned wizards and witches would be worse than one, but then again, he can’t claim to have much more experience in infiltrating the Ministry than any of them. Not to mention that those ‘joke’ articles are rather useful, regardless of how glad he is that they weren’t a thing when Sirius still went to school. 

Harry is shifting restlessly next to him, and Regulus briefly presses their shoulders together. “It will be fine,” he says with a conviction he doesn’t feel, and he can hear Harry sigh.

It’s probably only been a few minutes, but it feels like half an eternity until Ron and Hermione return and hand them two vials. “One of them is a tall, burly guy, the other average, so at least one of you has to change robes. I don’t know who they are, but they’re both off to St Mungo's as well. No idea which one is which, just that they seemed to be on good terms with each other,” Hermione rattles down, and they quickly disappear into the theatre to change.

Harry turns out to be a tall, broad-shouldered guy, while Regulus shrinks several inches. It’s a weird feeling, and if the way Harry is stumbling over his feet is anything to go by, he’s not alone with that.

As soon as they step out of the theatre again, Hermione hands them small, golden coins that have ‘ _MOM’_ imprinted on them, and they cross the short distance to the public restrooms that serve as the only, official entrance.

Only high-ranking Ministry officials are still allowed to connect their homes to the floo network, and Apparition has been prohibited completely. Regulus is just glad that he has spent more time than he ever wanted with accompanying his father to the Ministry, and even knows how this horrible entrance works.

Seriously, flushing yourself down a toilet – he’d really like to know what kind of idiot came up with that.

They find each other easily enough as soon as they arrive in the Atrium, but they all stop short at the sight of the new statue that’s towering in the middle of it.

“That’s disgusting,” Hermione mutters, and Regulus tears his eyes away from the wizard and the witch, enthroned on the back of who are doubtlessly Muggles. He wonders how he ever wanted to be a part of this but pushes the thought away as best as he can, and follows the other three into the direction of the lifts.

He arrives just in time to catch Yaxley talking to Ron, and only just manages to not let the sudden terror that grips him at the familiar face show. He remembers Yaxley from his days, and he was always one of the most ruthless, who had a lot of fun at making sure that Regulus follows the Dark Lord’s orders.

“ – my way to your wife’s trial, so you better make sure my office is dry when I return. Do you understand, Cattermole?” Yaxley says with a cruel smile before he turns away and, after a brief nod towards Harry and Regulus, disappears.

Ron is white as a sheet, and none of the many people around them follows into the lift that has just arrived.

As soon as the door closes, Ron turns to Hermione with wide, desperate eyes. “How do I stop rain in an office? My wife’s – I mean, _Cattermole’s_ wife’s life depends on it, I can’t fuck this up!”

Hermione names several charms, but Regulus quickly interrupts her. “Try Meteolojinx Recanto, it should work best.”

Ron barely has time to send him a look that is half grateful and half panicked before the lift comes to a halt on Level Two, and he rushes out when Hermione gives him a push, nearly running into one of the wizards that are just getting in.

One of them murmurs something to Harry who only gives a strained smile in response, and Regulus breathes a quiet sigh of relief when the lift halts again on Level One. It gets stuck in his throat when he notices four other people standing in the corridor, two men in deep conversation, another man, and a woman wearing so much pink and looking so much like a toad that he thinks he doesn’t need an explanation for who this is.

His hand twitches for his wand, and both Harry and Hermione tense.

“Mafalda,” who has to be Umbridge speaks up when she notices them. “You’re here to accompany me to the courtroom, I assume?”

Hermione blanches but gives a quick nod, and Umbridge looks satisfied, turning to one of the men standing next to her. “Well, Minister, I assume then we’re able to start on time. Shall we?”

Regulus’ eyes snap to the man in question. He has long hair and a slightly vacant look in his eyes, and he inconspicuously nudges Harry.

“Runcorn, Everdale, aren’t you getting out?” Umbridge addresses the two of them with a saccharine smile, and Regulus has to clench his jaw tightly to fight down the revulsion and anger welling up in him.

“Of course. Good day,” he says evenly and nudges Harry again.

Umbridge and the other two men get into the lift, and he can see Hermione’s tense expression just before the doors close again.

They step further into the corridor and the man who Umbridge addressed as Minister looks at them curiously. “What brings the two of you here?” he asks, and Regulus desperately searches for an answer.

It’s Harry who gets there first though. “We’re looking for Arthur Weasley. We were told he’s up here.”

The man’s eyes light up with malice. “Oh, did we finally find something on him?”

“Oh no, nothing like that, I’m afraid,” Regulus quickly says when he can feel Harry tense further next to him. “But we have to go if you’d excuse us?”

They don’t wait for an answer and quickly walk down the silent, empty corridor into the other direction until they turn a corner.

“Let’s use my cloak,” Harry whispers, his eyes flicking up and down the corridor. Regulus thinks that it’s weird how, despite him wearing another face, Regulus can make out the mix of worry and determination in his eyes that he has come to associate with Harry.

“Do you think we both fit under that? You’re taller than you usually are,” he answers quietly, though he would be lying if he claimed to not be desperate to be hidden.

Harry shrugs a shoulder and holds out the cloak. “If I can make it work with Ron and Hermione, we can, and _you_ are smaller. Come on, I don’t think my excuse was the best possible lie I could have come up with.”

Regulus decides not to argue. It takes a lot of shifting and they have to wrap their arms around each other, but as long as they move slowly, it more or less works.

“Fine, this works, but what are we supposed to do now?” he asks, the question gnawing at him. It seems more than stupid now that they didn’t plan for getting separated, and he doubts that they’re going to find the locket here.

“Seriously, I – “ Harry breaks off when a wizard passes them, and he pulls them to a stop. “I have no idea. Let’s see if we can find her office? It’s a long shot, but maybe we get lucky for once?”

They both know just how unlikely that is, but it’s not like Regulus has a better idea. Ron has to somehow stop the rain before they can even attempt to find him again, and he decides to worry about Hermione being stuck in a courtroom after that. “Alright, let’s go,” he sighs, vowing to himself to never again hesitate to question the plans those three come up with.

After another few turns, the corridor opens into an open workspace with dozens of witches and wizards who seem to be in the process of creating pamphlets. The silence and automatism with which they’re all working are decidedly eerie.

He doesn’t get much time to ponder it as Harry nudges him and jerks his head into the direction of a door to their right. There’s something like an eyeball sticking in the dark wood, and he has to repress a shudder.

To his surprise, Harry doesn’t pull them into the direction but over to one of the worktables, and only when his eyes fall onto the papers that are lain out on the table, does he understand why.

It’s a pamphlet warning about the dangers Muggleborn pose to a _‘Peaceful Pureblood Society’_. He has no idea what he expected or why he’s surprised, but the knot in his stomach tightens and he has to breathe deeply to keep himself from reaching for his wand to curse someone.

Harry tugs at him again, this time actually into the direction of said door, and when they’re close enough, he can make out the sign underneath the rotating eye.

_Dolores Umbridge, Under-Secretary to the Minister._

_Head of the Muggleborn Registration Commission._

Next to him, Harry fumbles with his pocket, and a moment later drops a small thing that runs away from them. He just considers dragging them out of here, when there are several loud bangs, black smoke billows from somewhere, and the previously so silent workers start shouting.

Not a second later, Harry has dragged them both into the office and is already tearing out the eye that’s connected to what looks like a telescope.

He doesn’t think it’s a particularly smart idea but stays silent, right until Harry attempts to shrug off the cloak. “Don’t! You just set off whatever that was and tore that eye out – it’s very likely that someone will come in here and no matter in how good a standing our two personas are, that would be rather hard to explain.”

“It’s going to take us much longer to search the office like this,” Harry hisses back, but he stops pulling at the cloak, so Regulus doesn’t deign it with an answer.

They quickly get to searching every pot and corner of the room, and he has to actively keep himself from retching at the overbearing decoration. It distracts him so much that he jumps when Harry growls next to him while they’re searching her desk, and when he looks down at the folder he’s holding, he’s not sure if he wants to snort or mirror the growl.

There are several profiles of people that are suspected to fight for the Order, but maybe the most – questionable, ridiculous, worrisome – file is the one on Harry. Right over his picture, in big, red letters is printed, _Undesirable Number One_ , with a note underneath that say, _To be punished._

The note is what tips the scale into anger, and he only realises how tightly he’s gripping Harry’s hip when he hisses in pain.

“Stupid as this is, not what we’re searching for,” Harry mutters and turns towards a shelf behind them.

Regulus’ eyes catch on a book with Dumbledore on its cover, and he frowns to himself when Harry picks it up, until he remembers what he told him about that reporter who published a biography on him.

He has to bite the insides of his cheeks to not urge him to let it be; he wouldn’t claim to understand Harry’s problem with Dumbledore, though he thinks it is a rather bad moment to ponder it.

His opinion proves to be correct when, barely a second later, the door clicks behind them. Harry only just manages to put the book back to where it was, and they stay as still and silent as possible when the Minister enters the office.

Or at least they do for the first, few seconds, up until Harry tugs at him again and Regulus doesn’t have a choice but to follow him if he doesn’t want to risk the cloak slipping.

To his immense relief, they make it out of the office without being noticed, right down the corridor and back to the lifts.

His patience finally snaps when Harry attempts to shrug the cloak off again. “For Merlin’s sake, just leave it! What is it with you and wanting to give up a perfect disguise? We’re much less likely to run into trouble if we’re invisible.”

Harry frowns at him but he doesn’t get to answer. The lift stops again and two men enter, both of them with a certain resemblance to Ron. Harry shifts next to him, his eyes fixed on the older of the two, but Regulus wraps his fingers around his wrist to keep him from doing something stupid. Seriously, he wonders if this is how it would have been with Sirius if they ever fought on the same side.

Thankfully, they finally arrive in the Atrium and after the two men get out, are the only ones left in the lift.

“What now?” he says, just as the mechanic voice announces their arrival at the Department of Mysteries.

“Let’s go to the courtrooms, maybe we can get Hermione out of there.”

He has several doubts about that but it’s not like they have much of a choice.

They walk down the dark, silent corridor and he’s a little surprised that Harry seems to know the way down to the courtrooms. He’s just pondering the possibilities when he becomes aware of a chill creeping all over him, and the too well-known sensation of despair only Dementors can elicit seeps into his thoughts.

Harry is shivering next to him, but he keeps a tight hold on Regulus and steers them forward. He just hopes that he knows what he’s doing.

Nothing could have prepared him for the scene they find when they turn the last corner. There are several wizards and witches sitting on benches, their faces buried in their hands and their bodies shaking, with the occasional sob and whimper breaking the silence, while countless Dementors float up and down the corridor.

This is what he fought for, this is what he chose and supported. A glance at Harry shows him that he’s pale, a muscle in his jaw jumping that seems at odds with the stoic face of the man he’s impersonating, and his grip on Regulus has slackened remarkably.

Still, he keeps walking and so Regulus follows, all the while trying to not let memories of another war, of raids and meetings and of a cave overwhelm him, of nightmares and dead hands and regret, so much regret, and the knowledge that –

“Really, I’m not! I’m a Half-blood, I swear –“

Desperate screams from their right pull him out of his spiralling thoughts and he only catches a look at the back of a man who is struggling against two Dementors who pull him away. He thinks he might be sick.

“Cattermole, Mary,” a voice calls, and a small witch gets up on shaking legs and stumbles into the direction of the door.

Before he can comprehend what is happening, Harry tugs at him again. And really, the advantage of his height right now is rather unfair, Regulus thinks, but he’s not sure if he would have had the strength to argue with him anyway, and so he just follows into the small courtroom.

Yaxley, Umbridge, and the woman who is Hermione right now are sitting at a high podium. A cat-Patronus is walking up and down in front of them while Ms Cattermole is pushed into a chair made of rough stone that instantly constrains her with heavy shackles. There are at least ten more Dementors in the room, the cold is seeping into everything. He has to draw on his last remains of Occlumency and focus on the warmth of the body next to him to not freeze on the spot and give in to all the horrible memories.

“Cattermole, Mary, correct?” Umbridge’s too-sweet voice echoes through the vast room and somehow, between her sobs, she still manages to answer.

Regulus has to turn out the questioning as best as he can when Umbridge accuses her of ‘stealing’ her wand from a ‘real’ witch, and Yaxley explains in detail how little they care for ‘Mudblood children’ or if they’re scared that their mother won’t come home.

It’s only vaguely effective, but he focuses as much as he can on Harry, who has just started to drag them towards the podium, up the stairs, and right behind Hermione. She jumps violently when Harry whispers into her ear that they’re behind her.

He doesn’t want to consider just how lucky they are that both Yaxley and Umbridge are too busy making fun of the poor woman to notice.

“That’s pretty, Dolores,” Hermione suddenly interrupts, and it’s only then that Regulus notices the locket that is dangling around her throat. _That_ locket, the bloody, blasted locket that nearly cost him his life once and, considering how things are looking right now, will probably do so again.

They need a plan, he needs to come up with a plan. Something is telling him that Harry won’t and, as smart as she is, Hermione doesn’t seem to be much better off. He curses himself once more for not insisting that they come up with more than how to get into the Ministry.

“Thank you, it’s a family heirloom,” Umbridge is just saying. “The Selwyns, you know – I’m related to several wizarding families, actually – “

She doesn’t get much further, and Regulus doesn’t either with his planning. It takes him a moment to understand that the Stunner that just hit her has come from Harry. He’s just taking out Yaxley too, and then pulls off the cloak.

“Are you mad?” Regulus exclaims, his eyes fixed on the Dementors that are already creeping forwards to the woman who is still bound but staring at them incredulously.

“Not now – “

“Harry!”

“The locket, Hermione! Can you cast a Patronus, Regulus?”

He stares, then stares some more, and then wants to hit himself for ever assuming that he could infiltrate the Ministry with three bloody Gryffindors and make it out in one piece.

“Can you or not, for fuck’s sake!” Harry nudges him, hard, and he finally snaps out of it.

“No! Maybe you should have asked that earlier,” he snarls and crosses the short distance to where Hermione is currently occupied with the locket. “Produce a Patronus, and let me copy it,” he says, already pushing her towards Harry.

Crisis, he’s good in a crisis, even though he’s going to curse Harry six ways to Sunday for this.

“Use a Gemino – “

“Fuck Hermione, _I know._ Now go and help him!” he snaps, much sharper than intended but now _really_ isn’t the time as far as he’s concerned.

He keeps half an eye on the two of them while he duplicates the locket, and they’ve just freed the immensely confused woman when he rushes down the stairs to meet them. There’s a bright, majestic stag circling around them and Harry is just urging Hermione to produce a Patronus as well when they reach the doors and nearly collide with a man who, on second glance, turns out to be Ron.

Ron, who is impersonating the woman’s husband, which leads to even more confusion that holds them up.

“Seriously, do you all _want_ to have your fucking soul sucked out of you?” Regulus finally exclaims and pushes them all forwards. “Let’s go, for fuck’s sake!”

“You swear an awful lot when you’re stressed, don’t you?” Harry says, and Regulus would have cursed him right then and there if he didn’t raise his voice just then to address the whole corridor. “Right, who has a wand? Pair up with someone who has, and then get out of here. Leave the country, go into hiding, I don’t care. Just leave. _Now!_ ”

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, really, and he clenches his jaw and follows behind the other three as they, together with the remaining Muggleborn, rush towards the lifts while the Dementors hover as close as they dare with the three Patroni.

“They know someone infiltrated the Ministry, by the way. There was a hole in Umbridge’s door or something?” Ron mutters while they’re squeezed into the lifts, and Regulus groans.

“I explain later,” Harry answers just as the doors to the Atrium open.

It only takes one look for Regulus to determine that they’re very close to lost; several wizards and witches are just in the process of closing the floos.

He’s just running through several options when Harry surprises him once again, striding over to one of the floos with a raised chin. “Leave this one open. They all have to leave,” he says imperiously, the whole thing even more impressive with the figure he currently has, and Regulus wants to laugh like a maniac when the wizard at the floo hesitates and looks at Harry with fear.

“But the order was – “

“Didn’t you hear me? I just told you to let them go,” Harry snarls, taking another step forward. “Or do you want me to have someone look into your family history, too?”

“Of – Of course not!” the man stammers and quickly steps aside.

They watch anxiously as one after another disappears into the flames, and Regulus is just rediscovering some of his hope when a voice behind them speaks up. “Mary?”

They turn, and he groans deeply when his eyes fall on an exact replica of the man Ron currently looks like. “For Merlin’s sake – “

“What’s going on here?”

“I’m – Reginald? But – “ Mary stammers, looking between the two of them while Ron shifts from one foot to another.

“Stop them!” A voice echoes through the Atrium. “Close the floos!”

It’s Yaxley, because of course it is, and Regulus has rather enough of all this.

“We leave. Now!” he says and pushes Ron, the two Cattermole’s and Hermione into the floo. He doesn’t wait for another second to stun the man who’s just attempting to close the connection and then grips Harry. They’re just stepping into the flames when Yaxley reaches the hearth, and Regulus raises his wand and casts a silent, dark Cutting Curse.

Seriously, if someone deserves it, it’s Yaxley. Well, and Umbridge, but he already took care of that when he copied the locket.

They’re spewed out in the run-down public toilets where the two Cattermole’s are currently trying to make sense of everything, and Regulus just wants to know if anyone besides himself actually has a will to survive. The irony isn’t lost on him.

“Right, you two. Get your children and fucking leave. Polyjuice is a thing, we’re sorry we pulled you into this but also you’re welcome for saving your asses,” he says before he turns to Hermione. “I stunned Yaxley, but I wouldn’t bet on having time for a tea. Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully, she seems to be the only one apart from him who has a semblance of self-preservation and grabs Ron arms to disapparate. He ignores Harry’s protests and follows suit, pushing him into the house as soon as they land and throws the door shut behind himself.

He has barely any time to sigh in relief when he feels his skin bubble and the tell-tale feeling of the Polyjuice wearing off sets in. A quick glance at the others shows him that they’re all changing back, and he sends silent thanks to whoever is listening for the luck they’ve had with the timing.

“Merlin but you’re a ridiculous Gryffindor, what the ever-loving fuck is _wrong_ with you?” he says to Harry when he can finally draw a breath again, his exasperation by no means diminished just because he was interrupted briefly. 

They’re all leaning against walls or furniture, and he still can’t believe they actually made it out of there, much less that they saved several others in the process.

“What,” Harry snaps, his eyes blazing, and Regulus would have taken a step back in surprise if he could. “You would have just left them there, wouldn’t you? Just save your own ass and – “

“That’s not what I said,” he says quietly, fighting to keep the sudden anger and disappointment in check. “I just meant that we could have gone about that a lot smarter – “

“Where _the fuck_ have you been, what did you do, and why didn’t I know about it!” Another voice interrupts them, and Regulus lets his head drop back against the door. Figures that Sirius would be home, now of all times.

“We got the locket from the Ministry,” Harry says, only confirming what Regulus just accused him of, and really, maybe time-travel isn’t all that it’s made out to be. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but – “

“Regulus,” Sirius says, his eyes narrowed and his hands trembling at his side. “A word.”

Of course, he’d be the one to blame, he should have known. He sighs deeply and avoids looking at any of them as he follows his brother into the drawing-room Harry hid him in all those weeks ago.

“What do you think you’re playing at, not letting me know?” Sirius rounds on him as soon as the door clicks shut, and he just wonders why they’ve left the room if his brother is going to shout down the whole house, anyway.

“I was asked to,” he answers, suddenly tired.

“So, you mean to tell me that my godson prefers to take my ex- Death Eater-brother along to a suicide mission?” Sirius sneers, and he has to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. It’s not like he’s wrong, after all.

"Do you want to tell me that you wouldn't have done something reckless the moment it looked dangerous?" he says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Harry was just scared you’d get yourself caught – “

“Well, of course I would have done something if it got out of hand!” Sirius exclaims, one hand fisted into his hair while the other gestures wildly. There’s a distinct, mad gleam in his eyes that reminds Regulus uncomfortably of Bellatrix. “I’d do anything to keep Harry safe, but I don’t expect you to understand that.”

He draws a deep breath to keep himself from hexing Sirius, closes his eyes for a moment, and then says calmly, “Of course I would, Sirius. But for me it's easier to not see him as a child, to watch him lead all those Muggleborns out of the Ministry and only think 'Merlin but you're a Gryffindor.’ To you, he's your godson, your best friends’ kid. To me, he's a guy who's a year younger than I am but had probably more tight situations than I did, and that's saying something."

All the fight seems to leave Sirius in a rush and he slumps into one of the armchairs. “I’m – you’re right. I’m sorry, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, averting his eyes. It’s not like any of the things Sirius just said are wrong, after all, no matter how much it hurts to hear them.

Sirius watches him for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, it was unjustified and unfair. Thanks for keeping an eye on them, okay?”

It at least gets a small smile out of him and he inclines his head, only to freeze at Sirius’ next words.

“The two of you have gotten rather close over the past month, haven’t you?”

He forces himself to shrug and not cross his arms over his chest like he suddenly wants to. “They’re nice,” he says nonchalantly, and alright, maybe that was a bit _too_ blasé, but the adrenaline is mostly out of his system by now and he desperately wants a nap.

Sirius hums and tilts his head. “Seems like Harry is a bit nicer than the rest, though.”

Regulus ducks his head to hide his face. “Well, it comes with the involuntarily shared correspondence, you know?” he says, grinning at Sirius and hoping that it will be enough.

There’s a knowing look in Sirius’ eyes that he doesn’t like at all, but some luck seems to return to him because he only nods. “Fair enough. Anyway, were you successful, at least?”

“Oh yeah, and if I didn’t know how James Potter was, I’d ask you if Harry is actually _your_ son,” he says dryly while pulling open the door in his back. “Come on, I need a coffee, and we can tell you how it went.”


	5. Somewhere Down The Road You'll Find Your Home

> _18/11/1977_
> 
> _“[…] It’s a childish, nearly treasonous wish, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live with a family who actually cares about what I have to say; how it would have been if there weren’t so many expectations and rules and traditions, carved into us from the very beginning. If there had been a little more room to breathe, maybe you wouldn’t have run. Then again, you never wanted just ‘a little more’ but everything. Selfishness seems to be another family trait, don’t you think? […]”_

* * *

It’s later that day when Regulus, Harry, Ron and Hermione are sitting in the library, that Harry brings up the question Regulus was already dreading.

“Do you know how to destroy a Horcrux?”

Regulus swallows and sighs. “Yes, I know that Fiendfyre works,” he says, and when he’s met with blank expressions, suppresses a grimace. “It’s cursed fire, incredibly difficult to control and highly dangerous.”

“Can you cast it?” Harry asks, and there it is. Technically, he can – he just doesn’t trust himself enough.

“Yes and no,” he answers, keeping his eyes on the chessboard in front of him. “I can cast it, but I’m not sure if I can control it. And if I fail, it’d burn down anything in its vicinity within seconds.”

It’s as close to the truth as he can bring himself to be. He did have difficulties controlling it, back when Bellatrix taught him the spell, but he also remembers the indescribable rush that always comes with the curse, one of the most powerful dark spells in existence, and he’d rather not cast it again. Ever. It reminds him too much of a time when he was still convinced that superiority and power were desirable.

Thankfully, he’s saved from answering further questions when Sirius’ Patronus bursts into the room, coming to a halt in front of Harry. “Coming home with a few Order members,” is all the big, shaggy dog says, but the message is clear enough, and Regulus is already up and halfway through the room.

It’s several hours later when there’s a knock on his door, and he’s just glad that he has more than enough books up here to not get bored.

“Come in,” he calls, and smiles slightly when Harry slips inside with an apologetic expression. “Is the coast clear again?”

Harry sighs and plops down at the end of his bed unceremoniously. “Unfortunately not. Apparently, the Ministry is upping their search for me and there are several Order members whose houses aren’t safe anymore. Grimmauld’s is the only place still untouched, and there’s no good reason to not allow them to stay here until they figure out how to put others under the Fidelius without raising suspicion.”

“Well,” he says slowly, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ll just stay in here most of the time, and when we have to leave, I’ll use your cloak. It’s not ideal, but I guess nobody is going to come up here, and Kreacher can bring me food.”

“No way, that’s mad. You’ll go crazy within two weeks, not to mention that it’s going to hinder us in general. How are we supposed to do research and all that with people around constantly? I remember how that went when we stayed at the Burrow, Ron’s mum kept us apart constantly,” Harry says hotly.

It’s not that he’s wrong but Regulus has no idea how else they’re supposed to deal with this. Before he can say anything though, Harry hisses in obvious pain and leans forward, his head in his hands and curling in on himself.

Panic jolts through him and he scrambles to get next to him. “Harry? Harry, are you alright? What the hell is going on?”

Harry doesn’t answer though, just groaning while his body trembles under Regulus’ hand, and it doesn’t take him long to conclude that he must be having another vision. Not that the knowledge helps any.

“Kreacher!” he calls while he keeps rubbing circles into Harry’s shaking back. “Bring me two cups of tea and a Pain-Relieve-Potion, please?” he asks as soon as Kreacher pops into existence, and after the elf shoots a quick, slightly worried look at Harry, he disappears again.

Harry is just sitting up again, his face white as a sheet and his hair sticking to his clammy skin when Kreacher returns and there’s a knock on the door.

“It’s the Mud – Hermione,” Kreacher mutters, handing Regulus the tea and the potion. Despite his obvious pain, the near-slip gets him a weak glare from Harry while Regulus calls for Hermione to enter.

It’s not that he doesn’t get Harry’s annoyance, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t close to slipping up himself from time to time. Of course, he knows that it’s wrong, but old habits die hard, and a change of opinion doesn’t automatically eradicate them.

He shakes his head to refocus and only just catches the end of Hermione’s speech to Harry. If their tense expressions are anything to go by, it was another lecture about these visions, and he softly sighs to himself.

“Here, I have a Pain Reliever and tea for you,” he interrupts their staring match and smiles briefly at Harry’s grateful look. “What did you see? If you want to tell, that is.”

Hermione huffs and sits down on the chair at his desk with her arms crossed over her chest, but he ignores her for now; it’s not that he doesn’t understand her concerns, but he also gets why Harry uses the connection.

“He found Gregorovitch,” Harry says after swallowing the potion. “But for some reason, he didn’t ask about our wands. He’s searching for something that Gregorovitch once had, but it was stolen. I just – I don’t get it, I was sure he wanted to find him to, I don’t know, have him make a more powerful wand or something. He killed him though, so…” he trails off, frustration etched into every line of his face while his hands hold on to the mug tightly.

Regulus hums and takes a moment to think about it. “Maybe he knew about a wand Gregorovitch had? Or an artefact?”

“Whatever,” Harry mutters with a sideways glance at Hermione, but even though Regulus knows that he should probably leave it, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

“It’s alright that you’re frustrated, you know. I get it,” he says quietly, the words more difficult than he expected them to be.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw jumps and his shoulders tense even further. “No offence, but I don’t think you do. All of you could just – walk away from this, decide not to fight. I can’t, I have a bloody prophecy dangling over my head that says, ‘ _Neither can live while the other survives,’_ and I don’t even know where to start. And now I don’t know what he’s up to either, for fuck’s sake.”

“Harry – “ Hermione starts, her voice sharp, but Regulus shoots her a look and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“To some degree, that might be true,” he starts, and quickly holds his hand up when Harry’s head whips around, his mouth already opening to protest, “But if I learnt one thing, it’s that there always is a choice. Prophecies are fickle things, open to many ways of interpretation, and fate isn’t set in stone.”

“Dumbledore saw that differently,” Harry shoots back, but his tone is already less sharp and the grip on his mug slackened remarkably.

Regulus shrugs. “Be that as it may, Dumbledore wasn’t my grand-aunt who, as I already said once, knew an awful lot of things she wasn’t supposed to know. What I mean to say is, is that I’m pretty sure that you would be fighting without a prophecy as well. I’ve not known you for long, but you don’t strike me as the type to sit back and let others do the work. And while I’m not contradicting that you’re in a more messed up spot than any of us, I wouldn’t be so sure that the Dark – that You-Know-Who won’t have my head as soon as he learns that I’m still alive.”

Finally, Harry’s shoulders relax and he smiles briefly. “Still, you don’t have to help me. I don’t even know what I’m doing half of the time.”

“Believe me, I know,” Regulus grins. “But I know what I’m getting myself into, and if I can say that after one month in your company, I’m quite sure that Ron and Hermione do as well.”

When he looks over at the girl in question, she’s watching him with a pensive look he’s not sure he likes, but she averts her eyes and smiles at Harry, the expression not nearly as strained as it was a few minutes ago. “Of course we do,” she says, leaning forwards and propping her elbows on her knees.

“Where is Ron, by the way?” Harry asks, looking around the room like he has only now noticed that it’s only them.

“Mrs Weasley is keeping him,” Hermione says with a sigh. “I swear, if this is going to be a repeat of the Burrow before the wedding…”

Harry grimaces and they’re silent for a while before he says, “I think… I think we should leave.”

Both Regulus and Hermione stare at him in disbelief and he runs a hand through his hair. “Think about it, there are going to be five to ten people here, meetings will take place here again, and there’s no way Regulus can hide in his room constantly. I know it’s mad, I have no idea where to go either, but we should think of something. We’re never going to find all the Horcruxes with Mrs Weasley looking over our shoulders the whole time.”

Unfortunately, it does make sense, and a glance at Hermione tells him that she can see the logic in Harry’s argument as well.

“Maybe we should talk about this with Ron here, too?” she finally says, but there’s determination in her eyes now and she seems like she’s already planning.

Harry nods and gets up from the bed. “I go and save him,” he says and slips out of the room.

“You’re good with him,” Hermione breaks the silence between them, and he raises a curious eyebrow at her. “To calm him down from – when he’s angry, I mean,” she clarifies, and there’s the pensive expression again.

He shrugs awkwardly and fiddles with a thread on his sleeve that has become loose. “I just know how it feels to think you have no choice, even though you do.”

“You know,” she starts slowly, shifting in her chair and biting her lip. “I really wasn’t sure what to make of you but – the fact that you don’t try to play your past down, that Harry and Sirius seem to trust you, and how you helped us in the Ministry today really speaks in your favour.”

Even though he has spent the last month with four Gryffindors, he’s still not completely used to this… blunt honesty, much less knows how to deal with it, so he smiles and bows his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to trust me. Hell, I probably wouldn’t either.”

She snorts and shakes her head at him. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” she grins, but he’s pretty sure that it would be a huge mistake to underestimate her.

Their conversation is cut short when Harry returns with Ron, who flops down on the floor next to Hermione’s chair. “Seriously, mum is going to drive us mental. She already made a plan to clean the house. Again.”

“That’s what we were just talking about,” Hermione says, exchanging a look with Harry. “We think it might be best to leave.”

Ron cocks his head and hums. “I get why, but where the hell can we possibly go?”

“There are a few more Black estates that should be deserted and still have at least basic wards up, but the problem is that anyone with Black blood could enter them. Seeing that they’re set on checking anyone who possibly has contact with Harry…”

“They would at least look for Sirius there if we’re unlucky,” Harry finishes, falling backwards onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “This is a disaster.”

“The only other option I can think of is camping,” Hermione says quietly, and they all stare at her in varying stages of disbelief. She rolls her eyes at them and huffs. “I have the tent we slept in at the Quidditch world cup, and if we change locations every day and put wards up… It’s far from perfect and probably dangerous but… It’s that or staying here.”

Regulus knows that she’s right, no matter how much he hates it; not only because camping isn’t anywhere close to his favoured pastime, but also considering the risk that comes with it.

“We should do it,” Harry says, because of course he does. “If we stay here, who knows how long it will take us to get anything done. What if someone discovers that Regulus is here? Your mother will only have so many rooms for us to clean before she starts on this one, and I’d rather not explain our plan to her of all people.”

Ron winces. “You’re probably right. Fine, let’s go camping.”

“Let’s go camping,” Regulus echoes, and if that isn’t a statement he never expected to say out loud, he doesn’t know what is.

Harry groans and pulls himself back into a sitting position. “I guess I should tell Sirius. Oh and Regulus, before I forget, two things. Do you have the locket?”

“Of course, I do,” he huffs and reaches into his robes for the clunky piece of jewellery. He has the weird impression that it’s pulsing in his hand and quickly gives it to Harry, who musters it for a while before handing it to Ron and Hermione.

Ron shudders and throws it back to Harry. “What should we do with it?” he asks, and there’s a flicker of disgust on Harry’s face before he puts it around his neck.

“Make sure we don’t lose it again,” he says curtly and then gets up from the bed. “Oh, right – I’m going to teach you the Patronus, Regulus. I have a feeling that we’re going to need it.”

With that, he slips out of the room, leaving Regulus to stare at the closed door in disbelief.

“You’ll get used to it, mate,” Ron says with a grin as he and Hermione pass him. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

They leave the next night, after the house is long since quiet. Regulus has no idea how Harry managed to convince Sirius to let them go and they’re both tight-lipped about it, but seeing that they’re both equally stubborn, he doesn’t bother asking.

Hermione apparates them into a forest that’s so dark that they topple all over each other upon landing, and he’s not sure if he should laugh or just suggest that he’s fine with staying in his room for an indefinite amount of time and to go back home.

“Well, I’m sure Vol – “

“Don’t!” Ron interrupts Harry at the same time that Hermione casts a Lumos. “Just – don’t say his name, it feels like a bad omen.”

Harry frowns and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Dumbledore said fear of the name – “

“Didn’t do him much good, did it?” Ron huffs and shakes his head. “I don’t know, I simply have a bad feeling about it.”

“Funny that you would say that,” Regulus mutters before Harry can answer, and raises both his hands in a gesture of defeat at the glare he earns for that. “Seriously, in the first war, there was a taboo on his name. When you said it, a group of Death Eaters would instantly appear where you are, bypassing wards and the like. Let’s just say it never ended well.”

Hermione stills where she’s currently busy with rummaging through her bag and stares at him, before turning her eyes on Harry. “Do you think – do you think that’s how they found us after the wedding? I don’t remember what we said, but…”

“Possible,” Harry says with a sigh. “Let’s not test it, though I’ll gladly call him a narcissistic bastard who has some serious issues, honestly.” 

Regulus closes his eyes against the exasperation and wonders how Harry is still alive, before getting to his feet and shaking the thought. “We should put up wards,” he says and if it’s mostly for the sake of changing the topic, nobody has to know. It’s not that he doesn’t agree, but there are too many memories of how well the Dark Lord deals with disrespect to be comfortable with this casual cheek.

“Good idea, come on then,” Hermione agrees, and the two of them walk into opposite directions into a large circle, muttering incantations in the dim light of their wands.

When the wards and the tent are set up and they’ve had some of the food Kreacher prepared for them, they agree to taking turns to keep watch, and Ron and Hermione go to bed.

Harry has the first shift while he has the last, and he knows that he should catch any sleep he can get but there’s a knot in his stomach and a pounding in his ears that make him feel like he’ll go mad if he so much as tries to lie down.

He finds Harry sitting outside of the tent, his wand loosely between his fingers while he stares into the darkness with a crease between his brows.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly as he sits down next to him, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself.

Harry smiles briefly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Fine, just – wondering what we’re supposed to do now. It’s not as if we’re having much of a lead on the other Horcruxes. What about you, shouldn’t you sleep?”

“Not really my bedtime yet, is it?” he says with a grin, but then turns serious. “It just feels more… severe, now, not to mention that it’s more dangerous for all of us.”

“I’m not sure it’s more dangerous for you out here than in a house full of Order members.”

“Oh yeah, because they’re as keen on torture and maiming as You-Know-Who and his lackeys. How stupid of me to forget,” he shoots back dryly, and ducks his head to hide his self-satisfied smile when Harry snorts and relaxes.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again, you really are something else. Come on, I was serious when I said that I’m going to teach you the Patronus.”

Regulus groans and tips his head back before staring at Harry with a raised brow. “I’m rather sure that’s an exercise in futility.”

Of course, that doesn’t deter Harry in the slightest, who nudges him until he sighs and gets up.

“It’s not like we have much better things to do. Now…”

* * *

Days turn into weeks sooner than feels real, and autumn grips the different forests and fields where they pitch their tent up every day.

It only took them a few days to realise that wearing the locket influences the mood, so they swap it around. Twelve hours of never warming metal against skin and thoughts turning steadily darker for each of them, and then a 36-hour break. Just enough time to dread its return.

Every morning, they leave their campsite, making sure to leave no sign of their presence behind, and apparate up and down the country. Sometimes, they sneak into Muggle villages to get some food, but Dementors are on the loose everywhere, and none of the other three can use their Patroni too often as especially Harry’s is rather well known.

Regulus’ progress on that front is non-existent. He’s not surprised that he lacks the memories necessary for the spell – the few happy ones he has are tinged with regret or sadness, and if it wasn’t for Harry, he probably would have given up by now.

It’s not that he actually believes Harry when he tells him that he can do it, but it’s hard to miss that Harry desperately needs something to do, and so they practice the bloody spell over and over whenever neither of them has to wear the locket.

Their only contact to the outside world is the small mirror Harry has that keeps them in touch with Sirius, although sometimes, Regulus isn’t sure if it’s not more of a curse. There is no good news to speak of, and the repeated reports on casualties do neither of them any good. Even the few scraps they get about Hogwarts from whatever Sirius hears from Ron’s mother only add to the worries.

Between their constant change of location, the close watch the Ministry and the Death Eaters keep on Sirius, and the general danger, it’s close to impossible for them to meet up with Sirius. Neither can they call Kreacher all that often because apparently, Molly Weasley is still furious about their disappearance and keeps a close watch on everyone. It doesn’t help with their food problems.

On top of that, he’s not used to being so close to other people constantly, and the steadily rising tension doesn’t help. The influence of the Horcrux, the lack of food, progress, and even only a sense of security, the close vicinity to each other – it’s wearing on them, and there has been more than one occasion when it already came close to a blow.

Hermione, Regulus, and Harry keep going over the little information they have. It’s a mere habit by now because there’s nothing new to go by, but they run through You-Know-Who’s past, possible artefacts, and known places that could be a Horcrux-hideout over and over until he’s sure he could recall them backwards and in his sleep.

Harry is convinced that one is at Hogwarts while Hermione trusts that Dumbledore would have found it. Regulus thinks that Harry may have a point, but he’s also sure that going to Hogwarts is as good an idea as walking into the Ministry without a disguise, so it’s not getting them anywhere.

Albania is out of the question because Dumbledore was convinced that five of six Horcruxes were already created beforehand and that the last one is the snake, which – he can see the logic, and it explains so much about the blasted beast.

And no matter how much Harry wants to go to Godric’s Hollow, Hermione is right when she claims that they’ll probably be expected there.

He agrees with Harry that it’s highly unlikely that there’s one at the orphanage, but they sneak into London under the Invisibility Cloak anyway, only to discover an office building where it once stood. None of them believes enough into a find to dig around there further.

It doesn’t help the mood; Hermione buries herself in her books, Regulus alternates between doing the same and spending more time with Harry which, he can admit, is probably the only thing keeping him sane these days, and Ron becomes more angry and short-tempered with each passing day.

For some reason, the Horcrux seems to influence Ron worst, and he’s snapping at Harry and Regulus often. For him, it usually involves remarks about his past, and there have been a few instances where he had to bite his tongue to not start a fight. The knowledge that he would win kind of helps, but it only goes so far.

Not that comparisons between Harry and You-Know-Who don’t make his blood boil – and he was rather surprised to discover just how much – but he knows that Harry can take care of himself well enough.

When he mentions it one night when the two of them sit in front of the tent, Harry sighs and shrugs. “He’s not used to not having three meals a day, to worrying about his family, to just – not feel alright. Hermione isn’t either, but she’s more pragmatic and better at distracting herself.”

“And you are? Used to it, I mean?” he asks, keeping his eyes fixed onto the shadows and twirling his wand between his fingers. He noticed that, regardless of how much Harry has told him about all the things he had to go through since he was 11, he never mentions his life before. Or his holidays.

He doesn’t want to pry, but it seems strange to him. Or maybe not exactly strange but worrying. Because what does someone hide who talks about the Dark Lord and teachers that tried to murder him and deadly tournaments like it’s normal?

There’s a certain suspicion that’s getting stronger with each passing day, and he doesn’t like it.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Harry says, shifting and leaning back against the tent. “I don’t know, I just feel like I’m letting all of you down. I should have a plan, should know what to do and where to go, and I don’t understand why Dumbledore never told me more.”

It’s another thing Regulus has noticed. When Harry doesn’t want to talk about one topic, he brings up something else that’s bothering him, and he never knows if it should annoy or amuse him. He’s not sure that Harry realises how he’s still opening up, but he’s not above taking the chance that is offered.

“Wouldn’t I like to know. But you’re not letting us down, or at least not me. I told you several times, I knew what I got myself into. I know how the Dark – how You-Know-Who is, and that we wouldn’t find the Horcruxes lying around in a shop-window in Diagon Alley with a neat, little sign – “

Harry gives a bark of laughter and nudges him with his shoulder. “Idiot,” he mutters, but it’s so fond that Regulus has to hide his smile.

“Anyway,” he says pointedly after clearing his throat. “I won’t say that it’s like a nice and exciting field trip, but it is what it is, and I know that one of the reasons we had to leave Grimmauld’s in the first place was because of me, so I won’t complain, either.”

“We had to leave because of the Horcruxes,” Harry says with a huff. “If we could have told them about that, we could have explained your presence. So, it’s really not your fault. And as for the rest – I know that Ron and Hermione are frustrated. I caught them talking a few times, and it’s not hard to miss.”

He hums and stays silent for a while, pondering if he should voice his thoughts. Eventually, he sighs softly and turns to meet Harry’s eyes. “I won’t tell you that you’re wrong and it’s all going to be fine because we both know it’s not true. You told me before that they just… don’t know how You-Know-Who is and – maybe you, _we_ should think about an alternative solution?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks with a frown, but he seems more pensive than insulted, so Regulus draws a deep breath.

“Just – maybe you should talk about it with them? If we go on like this, it’s going to come to a fight sooner or later,” he says quietly, weighing his every word. “You’re still convinced that there’s one Horcrux at Hogwarts, and Ron could actually go there. And it would be useful to have someone else at Grimmauld Place to do research and get Ms Weasley off our back, which Hermione could do. I’m not saying that them leaving is the only or the best solution, but talking about it seems better than waiting until someone snaps and it all blows up in our faces.”

Harry runs a hand over his face and through his hair before leaning more firmly against Regulus’ side. It’s… surprisingly nice and distracts him nearly enough to miss Harry’s answer. “To quote Sirius, that sounds disgustingly reasonable.”

A snort escapes him and he nudges him slightly. “I know, not your usual area of expertise, but you should give it a try.”

“Oh, because you’re such a beacon of reason?”

“Exactly, how could you have possibly missed that?”

Harry laughs quietly and stares up into the twisted, now nearly bare trees. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says, the smile still audible in his voice.

It shouldn’t be this comfortable, sitting huddled up in the cold autumn night in the middle of a war, and it might just be his memories of far worse times, but right now, he can’t imagine a place he’d rather be.

* * *

The next evening, they’re all sitting around and eating a meagre dinner while Ron is once again complaining, and Regulus has to actively keep himself from sending Harry a pointed look. He knows that pushing probably won’t help matters, and if someone understands the reluctance to openly talk about problems it’s probably him – or any Black, really – but It makes the tent feel even smaller, the air seems to press down on him and he just wants to shake all of them.

When Harry tells Hermione and Ron to shut up, he thinks he’s just about to be proven correct, but then he hears voices outside the tent and freezes.

Thankfully, it quickly turns out that it’s not Death Eaters on an unwelcome surprise visit, but two Goblins and three men. Hermione hands them all Extendable Ears, and they spend the next thirty minutes listening to a retelling of how Ron’s sister and two of her friends tried to sneak into Snape’s office to steal the sword of Gryffindor, how Snape sent it to Gringotts for safe-keeping, and how it’s actually a fake – something the Goblin didn’t feel like divulging to the questionable headmaster. 

He’d love to claim that this is the most exciting part of the evening, but then Hermione tells him that he should probably stay silent for the next few minutes and pulls the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black out of her bag.

Even if she didn’t warn him, he wouldn’t have been able to make more of a sound than laughter, probably.

Of course, dear Phineas is as exasperating as he ever was and the fact that Hermione blindfolded him, smart girl that she is, only makes it worse. It all falls short compared to his utter confusion when Hermione and Harry get excited about learning that Goblin-made weapons take on the properties of things that strengthen them, and why that means that the sword of Gryffindor can destroy a Horcrux.

“Oh, I killed a Basilisk with the sword in second year,” is Harry’s offhand-explanation that shuts him up. He listens with only half an ear to Hermione and Harry talking about it in excitement while he wonders if there’s ever going to be a time when he’s not utterly stumped every other day by the things that come out of Harry’s mouth.

In fact, he’s so distracted that he nearly misses what he has been predicting. Seriously, the company of three Gryffindors might be more relaxed than he’s used to, but it’s doing his observational skills no favours.

What does get through to him though is Ron’s, “ – don’t fucking care about my sister! You know _, your ex-girlfriend that you broke up with a few weeks ago?”_ and he has to swallow several times around the lump in his throat. He has no idea why it’s there in the first place, nor the sudden burning in his chest, but he puts it down to the fact that he has always hated conflict and steps between the two of them with a glare.

Ron and Harry stare at him with anger blazing in their eyes, but Hermione smiles so gratefully that he takes a deep breath and goes on. “First of all, Ron, take off the Horcrux.”

“What – “

“Do it, Ron,” Hermione speaks up, and her glare is so fierce that Ron eventually huffs and pulls off the chain from around his neck.

“Right, let’s sit down and, I can’t believe I’m saying this but, talk about it, yeah?” Regulus says, ignoring the indecipherable mess of emotions still coursing through him, how it makes his hands shake and his head spin. Instead, he pushes Ron into a chair before sending the pointed look he repressed earlier at Harry.

“He just said –“ Harry starts but falters at Regulus’ and Hermione’s raised brows, and he wonders if this is how parents feel.

“For Merlin’s sake, it doesn’t matter,” Regulus sighs before sitting down as well and running a hand through his hair. “Look, Ron, Hermione, you two are obviously frustrated and it’s not that I don’t get why, but I’m also going to be honest and tell you that I’m not sure what you expected.”

“Well, we thought he had an actual plan,” Ron starts again and seriously, there are at least three sarcastic remarks that come to mind at that, but he swallows them all down and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Obviously. But to cut the accusations and insults short, let’s get to the actually important point, which is what we’re going to do about it,” he says as calmly as he can muster.

Hermione opens her mouth, but Harry is faster. “I think you two should leave,” he says quietly, but the way his leg is jumping betrays his agitation.

“Harry! We – “

“No Mione, I don’t even mean because… I don’t know, not because I don’t want you here but – Regulus is right. We’re just going to keep fighting, and maybe we’re more successful if we split up and, additionally, don’t hate each other’s guts when this is over,” Harry cuts her off again, and there’s a note of pleading to his tone that makes Regulus’ chest clench.

It’s not enough to let the tight knot that’s still sitting heavy in his stomach disappear.

“I don’t know mate, I mean – I was… _am_ angry, but it feels wrong to simply leave you. Where would we even go?” Ron says, shifting in his chair and glancing over at Hermione.

“You could return to Hogwarts,” Regulus says. “As a Pureblood, you’d be safe. Hermione could stay at Grimmauld’s, do more research and make sure Kreacher gets to us with food. You could check if there really isn’t a Horcrux at the school, make sure your sister is alright.”

“You thought about this an awful lot,” Hermione says, looking at him with narrowed eyes while her finger taps against the small table restlessly.

Regulus just shrugs while he keeps looking at her. “It wasn’t hard to miss that you’re frustrated, and I’m rather sure that if we didn’t intervene, that fight just now would have ended ugly. It’s not going to get any better soon.”

She slumps in her chair and runs a hand over her face. “I don’t know. We promised we would help you Harry, and it feels like we’re abandoning you.”

Harry reaches over and takes her hand for a moment, though the smile on his face is a small, sad thing. “You’re not. I never wanted to pull you into this in the first place, I’m not going to be alone, and you’re still helping me. I don’t want us to fight, but it’s true that especially Ron and I… already said things we didn’t mean. Right?”

Ron’s ears turn red and he stares at the table, shifting in his chair. “Yeah – I know you care about my family and Ginny and – Anyway, I think it might be a good idea? We could keep in touch with the Galleons from the DA, and if something happens, we can always come back.”

“I – I still don’t know,” Hermione mutters, looking between Harry and Ron. Regulus is rather sure that he knows why she’s so conflicted, but he’s still distracted by his racing heart and the way blood is rushing in his ears, the intensity only stronger after Ron mentioned his sister again.

“Are you sure you would be fine? I would leave you the bag, or at least some of the things, and you would have to keep in touch with us every day, and remember to always obliterate any signs that you were there, and – “

“Mione, we know,” Harry interrupts her, sharing a brief smile with Ron. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

She huffs, but already looks less close to tears and like she’s actually thinking about it. “I mean, we really could research better at Hogwarts and Grimmauld’s, maybe even support the resistance in the school and give you better intel than Sirius can. But are you really sure?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, then glances briefly at Regulus and smiles. “I think I’m in good company.”

Weirdly enough, it placates some of the agitation that’s burning underneath his skin, and he’s just glad that he has a lifetime of Occlumency and experience of ignoring things that allow him to _not_ inspect any of this too closely.

“How about this. You can think about it for a few days – it’s not like you have to go. But we need to change something and, frankly, this is the only good solution I can think of. Then again, I don’t have the best track-record regarding friendships and decisions, so maybe there’s something better,” he says, and if the way Hermione relaxes further is anything to go by, it was the right thing to say.

* * *

A week later, Ron and Hermione leave for Hogsmeade and London respectively.

There was a lot of back and forth, a great many apologies and reassurances, several hours of Hermione listing things they need to keep in mind, but also an unmistakable air of relief.

Now, the tent is weirdly quiet, only the sound of the wind and the occasional cracking of old trees around them breaking the silence, and no matter how much he tries to distract himself with the copy of _‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’_ Hermione left for him, he doesn’t manage to shut up the strange questions that bother him more and more often.

He’s not ready to confront why hearing about Harry’s ex-girlfriend makes him so uneasy though and snaps the book close.

Harry is sitting in front of the tent with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and smiles when he sees him. He holds the blanket open in a silent offer, and Regulus hesitates, but it’s cold and Harry is shivering and just looking so bloody inviting that he sighs quietly and sits down next to him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, leaning into the warmth while staring over the small clearing they’re currently camping in. The first signs of frost are covering the ground, a thin, white blanket that’s stretching over the dead leaves and letting the dense forest appear unreal.

Harry hums and presses closer. “Yeah, I think so. It feels strange, but it’s better this way,” he says. “I’m just not sure how well Sirius will react to the news. You don’t want to be the one to talk to him, by any chance?”

He snorts and turns his head to look at him with a raised brow, only to find Harry already watching him with a small grin. “Not really,” he answers, his voice quieter than he intended, and he quickly averts his eyes again. “Though I could be convinced if you finally agree to let me take the locket for longer.”

It’s a stupid bargain and all his ancestors are probably turning in their graves right now. But Harry’s visions are worse and more frequent whenever he wears it, and Regulus is worried that between only the two of them, it’s going to be worse.

“Stop trying to punish yourself,” Harry says, a certain note of anger in his tone while his fingers wrap around Regulus’ wrist under the blanket.

It’s not at all what he expected, and it knocks the breath out of him. “What?”

“I know you’re offering because you’re worried, but you also think that you deserve it more. It’s bullshit.”

“I don’t – “

“Oh, come on. You always act aloof and as if nothing bothers you, but it’s obvious that you’re still beating yourself up. And I’m not saying that you should just forget about it or that joining the Death Eaters isn’t that bad or some rot, but – you already did a lot to make up for it, you keep doing things to make up for it, but silently punishing yourself won’t change anything and – “

“Alright!” he interrupts, his head spinning and the closeness suddenly too much. “Alright, fine. I get it, you read my letters and you know what’s going on inside my head, just – leave it,” he snaps, already halfway up.

“Reg, no, that’s not – “

“I’m going for a walk,” he says curtly, keeping himself from looking at Harry. He needs to put some space between them and order his thoughts, get a grip on himself and calm down.

It doesn’t matter that he’s aware that he’s overreacting. His heart is pounding painfully hard in his chest and he just knows that if he doesn’t leave now, he’s going to say something he’ll regret.

Harry doesn’t try to stop him again, and he only makes sure that he has his wand before he steps out of the wards.

Walking through the quickly darkening forest helps, and it’s only an hour until he at least doesn’t feel like running or cursing anymore. By now, he mostly regrets snapping at Harry in the first place and draws his return out as long as he can justify to himself without feeling like a coward.

He finds Harry in the small kitchen of the tent, the way he’s cooking appearing nearly mechanical, and leans against the counter to watch him.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, the words more difficult than they should be and his throat constricts even further when Harry sighs deeply.

“Don’t be,” Harry says, and it catches him off guard so much that he gapes at him. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I sometimes… just forget, that I know some things only because I’ve read them, not because you told me.”

“I do tell you rather a lot, so I guess that’s fair,” he murmurs, and he didn’t know how tense he was until Harry grins at him and he can breathe properly again. “Though I didn’t know you could cook, come to think of it.”

Harry’s face closes off in the way he has come to associate with whenever his life outside of Hogwarts comes up, but then he stops in his fluid movements, grimaces, and sighs. “I had to cook for the… my relatives I lived with,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the cutting board in front of him. “They didn’t like me very much.”

It’s the first time he mentions them at all, and more or less confirms what he has been expecting. Still – “You don’t have to tell me because you think you have to make up for reading the letters.”

Harry shrugs and throws the potatoes and mushrooms he’s been cutting into the pan. “I know. Weirdly enough, I want to,” he says, and that’s how they spend the evening.

Regulus learns about Lily Potters’ magic-hating sister and her husband, about a five-year-old who had to cook and clean and watch his cousin getting spoiled.

He’s sure it’s not even half of it, but it’s enough to provide him with anger he’s only ever known when he had to watch his mother take out her temper on Sirius. It also makes him marvel all the more at the way Harry puts everyone else before himself; it would have been so easy for him to become cold and angry at the world, to pursue a better life for only himself or to seek revenge.

Most of all, it makes him question Dumbledore’s sanity all over, and agree with his brothers’ statement from months ago. _The old man can be glad that he’s already dead._

He might have vowed to himself to never raise his wand against a Muggle again, but he’d love to have some very specific words with his old headmaster.

At the end of the evening, Harry falls asleep on the end of Regulus’ bed, curled up like one of the cats that used to follow him around at Hogwarts, and he covers him with a blanket before brewing some horrible coffee and taking up the spot in front of the tent.

Consequently, he’s running on little sleep the next day and barely suppresses a groan when Harry decides that now is a good time to call Sirius.

He knows that they shouldn’t put it off any longer, but his brother can be obnoxious on the best of days.

“Finally!” Sirius greets them, and Harry winces beside him. “I didn’t hear from you for over a week, and you didn’t answer my calls! And then Hermione shows up here, out of nowhere, and just says you all separated, and you still didn’t answer me!”

“Sorry about that. We were… kind of busy,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair while smiling apologetically.

Sirius perks up at the other end. “Do you have a lead?”

Harry falters next to him and Regulus sighs. “No, unfortunately not. We’re mostly considering what to do next, hoping Ron and Hermione will find something.”

“What got into you anyway, separating like this? Sending Ron to Hogwarts is a huge risk,“ Sirius growls, his earlier anger resurfacing.

“We know,” Regulus interrupts before Sirius can work himself into a rant. “But Ron has an excuse for not knowing anything about Harry’s whereabouts because of his feigned illness, and we made sure that he… wouldn’t be able to talk under Veritaserum or Legilimency, either.”

“An Unbreakable Vow,” Sirius states, the anger in his eyes giving way for consideration. He’s still frowning though. “I’m still not sure I like it. If you’re attacked, you have worse chances. On the other hand, it makes sense.”

“We would have driven each other mad,” Harry says with a sigh, and Sirius nods slowly before his eyes settle on Regulus once more.

“Can I talk to Reg for a moment?” he asks, his head tilted in that way he does when he’s just thinking of something. Regulus is rather sure that he doesn’t want to hear what it is, but there’s no good excuse.

Harry raises both eyebrows but shrugs and hands the mirror to him. “I’m outside, let me know if you need me,” he says, and with that leaves the two of them alone.

“So,” Sirius starts. “My godson gets sick of his friends, but not of you. And vice versa.”

Put like that, it sounds rather weird. “We’re just not that used to each other yet. More to talk about – “

“Oh please,” Sirius snorts. “You have a crush on him, Reg. I’m not blind, you know?”

That makes him choke on air and it takes several moments until he can breathe again. “I – _what?”_

“How is it going, then? Seems to me like he’s not that averse,” Sirius grins, and Regulus just wishes he could curse him through the blasted mirror.

“I don’t, he doesn’t, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re even closer than before, you keep exchanging glances, you stay with him while his friends leave. Looks like a crush to me,” Sirius says, and he’s still grinning while Regulus has trouble to keep the flush off his face.

“You couldn’t go without talking to James Potter for the duration of one detention, and you’re telling me _we’re_ too close?” he finally manages, and he thinks it’s a rather good argument.

“Oh Reg, you really are a dense fucker, aren’t you?” Sirius sighs and his grin now is less teasing and more wistful. Then he sobers and pins him with a look. “Don’t do anything stupid, I have no qualms finding a way to throw you back into the time you came from if you hurt him.”

“Sirius – “

“I’m joking. Mostly, anyway. Bye Reg, have a good time,” he says, back to his obnoxious grin, and then the connection cuts off and he’s left to stare at his own face.

His hands are trembling, and he quickly puts the mirror down to not smash it against the next-best surface. The thing is – it’s not that he’s completely dense. He just knows that it’s better to ignore some things, to not acknowledge them and pretend they’re not there until you believe it yourself.

Of course, it would be Sirius who has to go and hit him over the head with it. Regardless of how much his world has been turned upside down since he was drawn into a future where he suddenly has something akin to friends – if he knows one thing, it’s that Harry is and always will be much too good for him.

He can talk about redemption and forgiveness all he wants, and a part of Regulus may even want to believe him, but he’s not selfish enough to wish for this, to burden someone like Harry with someone like himself.

The Death Eater and the Chosen One – that already sounds like the title of a cheesy, unrealistic romance novel, and he learnt ages ago that they’re as far from the real world as one can get.

How could he possibly expect Harry, who has suffered his whole life under the same people he wanted to be a part of, to deal with the mess of a person that came out on the other side?

And he already has so much more than he ever dared to hope for; a second chance, a reconciliation with Sirius, three people who actually listen to him and consider his opinions despite his past. Harry’s friendship – it’s enough, more than enough. It _has_ to be enough. He won’t risk any of this just because there’s a part of him that’s greedy for more than he should ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that, on first glance, it migth seem out of character that Hermione leaves as well, but I had my reasons. I think she knew that Ron would've never left if he was the only one to do so, and they all could see that it was a receipt for disaster eventually. Also, the rational side of the argument that splitting up means better research-possibilities and, last but not least, Hermione definitely ships it.


	6. You Make Even Hell Feel Like Home

> _04/03/1978_
> 
> _“[…] I can’t wait to finally be out of school and do something meaningful; it seems pointless, attending lessons and listening to all the nonsense some of the teachers preach. Bellatrix and some other Death Eaters taught me more useful things over the holidays than Slughorn manages in a whole year. And all this talk about fear and ‘dark times’ – as if it has not been insulting to us, the way our history and traditions get erased. All I want is to do something great, something our parents can be proud of, for once. Not that you’d ever understand. […]”_

* * *

Regulus likes to think that he would pull away from Harry after his talk with Sirius if it wasn’t impossible with only the two of them in the tent, but he’s not sure he believes himself.

Now that he’s unable to ignore his feelings any longer, he’s suddenly hyper-aware of how close they’ve become, and it does nothing for his peace of mind. He often catches Harry watching him but averting his eyes when he raises his head, and he sometimes worries that he’s too obvious.

But Harry still presses close to him when they sit in front of the tent. He still waits with coffee and an amused grin when Regulus stumbles out of bed in the morning, and he’s even more open about himself than before, his stories and questions becoming more personal and less about You-Know-Who and the war.

He knows it’s stupid, that it’s only going to make matters worse because every time Harry’s eyes light up when he’s talking about Quidditch, or his nose scrunches in annoyance when he mentions teachers or students who used to get on his nerves, Regulus’ heart jumps and he can’t bring himself to stop this. So he keeps listening and asking, and tells his own stories from his schooldays.

November has melted into December and they keep to the south to avoid the worst of the weather. They’re currently set up at the base of one of the highest mountains in the north of Wales and just finished another Patronus lesson.

He does manage some feeble mist by now, but he’d probably be beyond frustrated if he ever expected to manage the spell in the first place. As it is, it’s more a testament to Harry’s stubbornness than anything else that they’re still practising every other day.

“You know, it’s not because you’re a bad teacher,” he says when he plops down next to him in the entrance of the tent and summons a bunch of blankets from inside to wrap around them.

Harry smiles briefly and tips his head back. “You’re getting there. Slowly, but you do,” he answers, his voice as calm and patient as on the first day. He glances at Regulus for long moments before leaning against him. “What were you thinking of?”

He sighs softly and closes his eyes; it’s not something he really wants to tell him, but he also doesn’t want to lie, and so he settles on a half-truth. “Barty – back when we were still at school and not yet… You know, part of a group of psychopaths. It’s probably impossible for you to imagine and I don’t blame you, but before he became a raging fanatic, he was actually kind and – “ he breaks off, the lump in his throat making it hard to talk, and he doesn’t want Harry to hear his voice break.

“Yeah, it’s a bit hard to picture, but that doesn’t mean that some memories can’t be happy to you,” Harry says, and he feels him shrugging against his side.

A short, mirthless laugh breaks out of him and he shakes his head. “The thing is that they’re not happy anymore. I mean, they were but – now I think of them and see the path we went down, how I dragged him along with me and, I don’t know. It feels like a lifetime ago and at the same time it was me, and I wouldn’t be who I am today without that but – Oh Salazar, no idea,” he huffs, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair.

“How philosophical,” Harry deadpans, nudging him, and it loosens the knot in his stomach.

“Well, not everyone can survive on impulse and luck alone, you know?” he shoots back, raising his head to grin at him.

Harry shoves him and rolls his eyes, but then turns serious and sighs. “I mean, I get it, and I think it’s more normal than wrong that you miss him – he was your, what? Best friend?”

“Something like that,” he mutters, not intent on getting any further into that particular subject. Not only would he rather not think about it, but he’s also not sure how Harry would react in general.

The wizarding world is less concerned with sexuality than what he knows about the Muggle world, at least as long as it’s not the heir, and he doesn’t expect Harry of all people to have a problem with it, but he’d rather not take any risks.

“Something like – wait, so… Oh,” Harry stumbles over his own words, and when Regulus looks over, there’s a faint blush spreading over his cheeks that makes him snort despite himself. Of course, the one time Harry has to be observant, it has to be this.

Harry’s attempt at a glare is rather weak, but then he starts laughing and the tension dissipates.

“What about you?” he asks after a moment, hoping to steer away from the subject, and Harry shrugs again.

“I only went out with Ginny. Oh well, and Cho in fifth year, but let’s not get into that,” he says with a grimace.

Regulus actually meant his Patronus-memory, but he can see how that could have been mistaken. Now that it has come up, he can’t bring himself to pass up the chance to learn more about the girl in question. “It’s not been that long since you two broke up, right?” he asks despite knowing he shouldn’t. He _should_ probably worry about what happened to his self-control.

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I broke up with her because I didn’t want to put her into danger. At least that’s what my initial reason was, but… I think it generally was for the best, too. I like her and we had a good time, but it’s… I felt like I could talk to her even less than with Ron and Hermione. Which is probably stupid because she actually knows Vol – _Tom_ better than they do, but it just didn’t feel right. She’s also my best mate’s little sister, and it’s kind of hard to get past that.”

Regulus stubbornly ignores how his heart jumps at the admission. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out,” he says, and it’s not even a lie. Jealousy or not, he wants Harry to be happy, or at least have good, normal things in between the mess that’s his life.

“Thanks, but – I know it sounds weird, but I’m glad that we ended things. I’m – “ he breaks off and tenses, then scrambles to get to his pocket and pulls out the Galleon they use to stay in touch with Ron and Hermione. “Hermione says to look up a story in ‘The Tales of Beedle The Bart,’ page 64. There’s a rune at the title she doesn’t recognize.”

“Come on then,” Regulus sighs, halfway between wanting to know what Harry intended to say and glad to let the topic rest. “We need to make some dinner anyway.”

* * *

“Hey, Reg?” Harry says one night, lying at the end of Regulus’ bed while he’s trying to find a reason why the story of the three brothers is the only one marked in the book.

The tone makes him look up though. “You sound like you want something,” he says with narrowed eyes, and Harry’s shifting while he stares at the bunk above them only strengthens his suspicion.

“I still think we should go to Godric’s Hollow.”

If he’s honest, he more or less forgot about Harry’s determination to go there, but that doesn’t change that he agrees with Hermione on the matter – it’s way too predictable and he’d bet his wand hand that they’ll be expected.

On the other hand, the Sword of Gryffindor has joined their list of things to find weeks ago, and he wouldn’t put it past Dumbledore to hide it there for Harry to find. Because of course, simply telling him where it is would’ve been too easy.

He says as much and then groans at Harry’s surprised expression that he quickly tries to school into one of agreement.

“You didn’t even think of the sword. Don’t act like it was your plan all along, you’re ridiculously easy to read,” he mutters and snaps the book shut.

“To be fair, it would make sense. Dumbledore thought he could destroy the locket with the sword, so he didn’t give it to me earlier, but he knew the Ministry would never hand it over to me,” Harry says with a shrug, grinning at him unapologetically.

“Sounds like him,” he sighs. “Alright, yes. Maybe we should go to Godric’s Hollow, but we’ll use some of the Polyjuice we still have, and the Invisibility Cloak, and we’ll be careful. I don’t feel like a repeat of the Ministry.”

“Getting comfortable, are we?” Harry smirks, and only narrowly manages to avoid the pillow Regulus throws at him.

“No, I just learnt that you’re a reckless Gryffindor who thinks his gut is a good advisor,” he says with a huff, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs.

Harry raises his chin and attempts a haughty look. “I’ll have you know that it served me very well.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that, but we’re still going to be careful. We’re not all as blessed as you are, mighty chosen one,” he grins, and maybe it should be worrying that they’re joking about this, but he’s enjoying himself way too much.

He does see the flick of Harry’s wrist, but he’s still too slow to stop the pillow from hitting him square in the face, and his glare does nothing to diminish Harry’s smug grin. “I’ll be careful if you stop calling me that.”

“Alright,” he nods, then smiles innocently at him. “Is boy-who-lived better? Saviour of the wizarding world – “

“Oh fuck, stop it,” Harry groans, but there’s still a smile tugging at his lips.

Regulus grins. “You have to admit, they’re all bloody ridiculous though.”

“Of course they are, that’s why I’m going to hex you if you don’t stop.”

“That’s not very saviour-like – “

“Regulus!”

“Okay, okay, I stop. So, we’ll be careful?” he relents, glancing at Harry’s wand with some worry. He wouldn’t put it past him to turn his hair green in retaliation – it’s Sirius’ godson, after all.

Harry watches him with narrowed eyes for a few beats longer before putting his wand away. “Yeah, we’ll be careful.”

* * *

They spend the next few days going over their plan, getting the hair of two Muggles from a small village near Cardiff, and reassuring Ron and Hermione in three-word-messages that they’re going to be fine.

When they finally apparate to Godric’s Hollow, it’s already dark outside. The town they land in is decorated with Christmas lights that reflect in the snow, and old, colourful cottages line the main street.

Harry is tense and quiet beside him, and Regulus asks himself for the hundredth time if it’s really him who should be here with him.

“Let’s take off the cloak, our footsteps would be visible anyway,” Harry mutters, his eyes flickering up and down the road.

It’s unnecessarily risky and there’s more than one way to hide their footsteps, but somehow he understands that it must feel wrong to come here hidden, feeling scared, and so he just nods.

Noises spill into the night from a pub, and there are Christmas carols audible from a small church down the road. It’s peaceful and normal, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

“Come on, I think the graveyard is behind the church,” he says softly and has to fight the urge to take Harry’s hand.

They don’t get further than the small square in the middle of the town though, and it takes him a moment to understand what Harry is staring at before the simple Obelisk gives way to a statue of James and Lily Potter with a small infant in their arms.

A glance at Harry tells him that he’s as conflicted about it as Regulus would be, but he stays silent and waits until Harry turns away to keep walking.

Of course, the first familiar name they stumble upon after entering the graveyard simply has to be Dumbledore, and Harry glares at the white stone for several moments before turning away abruptly.

There are many names of well-known wizarding families, but the only one that catches him slightly by surprise is the one of Ignotus Peverell – or more the sign that’s engraved under it.

He doesn’t call Harry back, but he stares at it for several moments as an idea forms in his head. Eventually, he puts it away for later and catches up with Harry, and they walk in silence until they finally find a relatively new-looking white stone with James and Lily Potters’ name on it.

Harry’s shoulders are shaking and his breathing ragged, and it’s enough for Regulus to reach over and take his hand. “Do you want me to conjure some flowers?” he asks quietly, and at Harry’s hesitant nod, thinks for a moment before conjuring a bouquet of dark red amaryllis.

“Let’s go,” Harry says, letting go of his hand only to wrap his arm around Regulus’ waist. He sighs and pulls him against his side, and they slowly walk back through the silent graveyard. The singing from the church stopped, and the crunching of snow underneath their feet is the only sound.

“We should put the cloak back on, I feel like we’re being watched,” Harry whispers when they pass through the gate, and it’s enough to speed Regulus’ heartbeat back up. When he looks around, he can’t make out anyone, but he still feels better when they’re safely back under the cloak.

They walk down the main street and he’s just considering to propose that they leave when Harry pulls him towards what looks like empty space on the first glance but turns out to be an overgrown house that’s missing half its roof.

He doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out where they are, and the sign that grows out of the ground only confirms his assumption. “You don’t plan to go inside, right?” he asks because it sounds like something Harry would do.

“No, but – look. Do you think she can see us?”

His head whips around and he stares at the small, frail woman who is walking towards them with her eyes fixed on exactly where they’re standing. There are no other houses out here, and the dread coursing through him intensifies tenfold.

As if in silent agreement, they stay perfectly still, but there’s no doubt that she knows they’re there when she stops a few feet away from them and gestures for them to follow.

Of course, he shouldn’t have forgotten about Harry’s utter impulsiveness, and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised when he pulls off the cloak and asks, “Are you Bathilda Bagshot?”

She nods and gestures again for them to follow.

“Harry, this seems like a really, _really_ stupid idea,” he whispers, one hand on Harry’s arm while he doesn’t take his eyes off the woman still watching them. 

“Oh come on, what could she even do? And she knew Dumbledore, she talked to Skeeter – it would make sense for the sword to be with her, wouldn’t it? It’s why we’re here, after all.”

When he says it like that, it sounds nearly reasonable, and he wonders if there’s not a Slytherin somewhere in Harry. Still, there’s a small voice in his mind warning him that this is a horrible idea; there’s something off about the woman, starting with her being able to see them under the cloak.

In the end, he gives in anyway. Because it would make sense, because it’s Harry, and because Regulus is in way over his head.

The house she leads them into is the worst mess he’s ever seen, and the stench makes his eyes water. She leads them into a sitting-room where Harry helps her light candles until he suddenly freezes.

“Ms Bagshot, who is this?” he asks in a tense voice and walks over to her with a picture frame in his hand.

Regulus thinks he might have to curse him at some point. The urge only gets worse when she gestures for Harry to follow her once more, indicating clearly for Regulus to stay behind.

He nods, but only waits until he hears a door shut upstairs before he creeps down the hallway, silences his steps, and follows up the narrow stairs. Just as he reaches the landing, there’s a dull thud coming from the other side of the door.

His wand is in his hand before the thought even finishes and he pushes the door open with a curse on the tip of his tongue. And then he freezes.

There’s a hissing noise he’d recognize anywhere because it’s still haunting his nightmares; Harry’s shouting, “He’s coming,” while scrambling away from the huge snake, his arm is bleeding, and Regulus can’t move.

“Reg, watch – “ Pain is blooming in his side, burning hot and spreading through his body and he staggers, stumbling into a table that makes him fall. He can’t breathe, and not only because that beast of a pet is currently wrapping around him like a vine. He thinks it might still be biting him but it’s all so very far away; Harry’s shouts, the pain, the panic, it’s all drowned out by hissing, and Harry bleeding, and, “He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.”

Harry’s panicked face swims into existence, he can feel a tight grip on his arm, and then there’s the sensation of being pressed through a tube, an angered cry, and finally, _finally,_ it all fades to black.

* * *

There’s something burning up his insides.

Scratch that, there’s something burning up his body inside and out, but the longer he focuses on it, the surer he becomes that it’s coming from the right side of his waist. Maybe his arm, too.

His first instinct is to move, but despite the pain seemingly gripping his every thought, he takes a moment and tries to remember what happened, or at least determine where he is.

He’s lying on something soft, there seems to be a blanket on top of him, and he and Harry –

Harry. Harry, Godric’s Hollow, a batty old woman, and the Dark Lord’s snake. It’s enough to make him throw caution to the wind and force his eyes open while trying to sit up.

It sends a new wave of burning hot pain through his right side and he groans, his hands clenching into the blanket, but his gaze finally finds Harry, sitting next to him.

“Don’t try to move, you idiot,” Harry croaks, his voice rough and his eyes red-rimmed with dark shadows underneath them. He’s deadly pale and his hair even messier than usual.

“Merlin Harry, you look like shit,” he answers, attempting a smile that most likely comes out more like a grimace.

Harry chokes and shakes his head. “Well, you wouldn’t win Witch Weekly’s most eligible Bachelor-award right now either,” he answers, and the fact that he’s still joking calms him down slightly.

He tears his eyes away from him though and finds that they’re back in the tent. There’s only the faintest light filtering through the canvas, and the sounds of the forest seem muted.

“Is it morning already?” he asks, looking back at Harry with a frown.

“Evening again. You’ve been out of it for a while, I… wasn’t sure you’d make it at all, to be honest. Nagini got you quite badly,” Harry says quietly, his eyes too bright behind his glasses as he tries to hide the tremble of his hands.

The memories are slowly getting clearer, and he winces when he remembers how he simply froze the moment he heard Parseltongue and that the Dark Lord was on his way.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry frowns at him. “For what? I was the one who got us into that mess again. _‘Oh, what is she even supposed to do,’_ yeah, really good.”

“And instead of helping you, I froze like it was a Medusa and not a fucking snake,” he says dryly, and at least it gets a weak smile out of Harry.

“We got away, didn’t we? Just in time, too, and Vol – You-Know-Who didn’t even see you. Nagini only described you as ‘tall and black-haired’, so he thinks you’re Sirius,” Harry says with a shrug.

“Wait, how do you know that?”

“I had visions the whole night. Rather annoying if you ask me, they were really strong, and if you didn’t teach me some Occlumency over the last few weeks, I would have probably passed out. He was _really_ angry,” Harry says quietly, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes that leads him to him believe that there was more to it than what he just told Regulus.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and it feels utterly lacking.

“Don’t be. Your method of teaching actually saved me from a much more horrible night. The way you explained it as sorting memories makes so much more sense than Snape’s ‘clear your mind’-nonsense,” Harry says, and it’s an obvious attempt at changing the subject, but Regulus is way too exhausted to call him out on it.

“Different methods work for different people. Snape’s isn’t necessarily wrong, just not… universal,” he says instead, and he can’t deny that talking about something normal like this makes him feel better.

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m glad I agreed to try it. Granted, that you didn’t expect me to learn it for whatever reason helped, but you were right when you said that it’s better to at least have the choice of using it.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve noticed that you’re not the biggest fan of rules or decisions being made for you,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes fondly. Then he tries to sit up again and instantly flinches at the pain shooting through him at the movement.

“Says the one whom I just told not to move and who tries it anyway,” Harry grumbles, then reaches next to him and hands him a potion vial. “Pain Reliever, though you’ll have to stay in bed a few days. I managed to close all the wounds with dittany and gave you a bezoar against the poison, but it’s still rather bad.”

He groans and downs the potion. “Fuck, I can’t believe I simply froze like that. What if it happens again? That could be really dangerous to you – it already is if we can’t change locations every day and – “

“Reg,” Harry interrupts him, catching his hand before he can run it through his hair again. “It happens, but just because it did once, doesn’t mean it will again. At the Ministry you were just fine and I mean, who expects a bloody snake in an old woman’s place? We made it out, it’s all that matters.”

He wants to believe him, he really does, but he simply can’t bring himself to not listen to the doubts. Harry doesn’t need to know that though; he looks like he’s going to topple over any moment, and Regulus thinks he has caused him rather enough worry.

Which reminds him of something else. “Weren’t you hurt, too? I remember that I saw you bleeding.”

Harry shrugs again and pulls back his sleeve, revealing a mostly healed wound on his forearm. “She caught me once, but not too badly. She wasn’t supposed to kill me, just to keep me there until You-Know-Who arrives.”

“Wait, so – was the snake actually hiding upstairs?”

Harry grimaces again and slowly shakes his head. “No, she basically… was Bathilda Bagshot. I don’t know, seriously, she just – came out of her body when we arrived upstairs. I’m not sure I even want to know the specifics.”

Regulus has a good idea, and he wishes he didn’t. “Probably not,” is all he says. “You should sleep though. I can wake you up if something happens. No offence, but you look terrible.”

“Are you sure? How are you going to wake me, you literally can’t move out of this bed,” Harry says, but he looks conflicted and doesn’t sound convinced either.

“I don’t know, just – sleep here or something,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face again. “You’re no use if you can barely see straight because of exhaustion.”

Harry hesitates a moment longer before he visibly gives in. “Alright, but wake me up if you need something, too. And don’t try to move, you hear me?”

He can’t help the snort and grins at him fondly. “Is this how it feels to have a caring parent?”

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” Harry smirks before plopping down next to him and summoning another blanket. His grin only grows when Regulus chokes on air.

“Don’t die while I sleep,” Harry mutters, his forehead resting against Regulus’ shoulder, and he’s is just glad that Harry can’t see the smile he’s unable to keep off his face. For a while, he only lies there, thinking about the previous day and telling himself that he doesn’t enjoy Harry’s warmth against his uninjured side.

When he becomes a little too aware of the latter, he sighs and fumbles until he finds Harry’s wand to summon the book on Dumbledore he took from Bagshot’s house.

* * *

The next few days are difficult. Patience is not a trait the Blacks are known for, and Regulus is no exception. Being unable to move around is grating on his nerves, and Summoning Charms only go so far in not depending on Harry.

One good thing that comes out of it is that he finally figures out why the story of the three brothers is marked.

Between talking to Harry about the Invisibility Cloak in an attempt to understand how they were seen and learning that it’s a family heirloom, which shouldn’t be possible, reading the book on Dumbledore and learning about his friendship with Grindelwald – and isn’t that a surprise he would’ve only foregone to spare Harry the confusion and anger – the sign on Ignotus Peverell’s grave, the story itself, and some distant memories of Cassiopeia talking about the myth and historical importance, he finally draws the connection to the Hallows.

He mulls it over countless times, and in the end, reads the story to Harry while also telling him about the related myths he know of. “I think – I think Dumbledore probably meant to point out that they’re real. Or could be, at least.”

It sounds crazy, but there are too many signs pointing into the direction. The mark alone appeared too many times now to be mere coincidence.

Harry seems to think it over, and suddenly, his eyes light up. “That would mean – I have the cloak, and – Oh Merlin, Peverell you said, right?”

Regulus nods, frowning slightly in confusion.

“Morfin Gaunt!” Harry exclaims. “I mean, You-Know-Who’s uncle, he boasted that they’re descendant from the Peverell-line, and there was this stone in the ring. The ring Dumbledore destroyed, so – what if I’m descendant from the youngest brother? The one with the cloak? And – “

He breaks off, fumbling with the moleskin bag around his neck. His face is flushed, nearly feverish, and Regulus is not sure if he should be worried or just enjoy the sudden elation that’s such a stark difference to the quiet, nearly depressed atmosphere that’s been settling over them.

“It’s in here,” Harry says calmly, pulling him out of his thoughts, and he holds out the snitch to Regulus.

He stares, then stares some more, and has to lean back to let that sink in. “It – I can’t believe I’m saying this but, it would make sense. I mean – it’s a children story, and there’s still a part of me that doesn’t want to believe it’s real, but… My grand-aunt used to talk about it, and it just – fits. The only thing I don’t understand is what Dumbledore meant for you to do with the knowledge. Even if you have two – hell, even if you had all three, what would it do for you to be the Master of Death?”

Harry looks thoughtful, turning the snitch over in his hand. “That’s true. You’d think that the wand would be the most useful to defeat – “ he breaks off and blanches, his eyes growing wide and slightly panicked. “That’s what he’s after. He’s searching for the Elder Wand.”

Regulus’ throat goes dry and his heart sinks; You-Know-Who with the Elder wand is an even worse nightmare than he is all by himself. But – “Why only now?” he asks, clinging to the sliver of doubt with all he has.

“He was Muggle-raised. He possibly never heard of it before – probably still doesn’t know that it’s part of the Hallows. Just consider how long it took us – you, to figure it out. It’s not a well-known story, and he probably would have tried to find them all if he knew of them,” he says, his fingers drumming against the snitch.

It makes sense, but it’s not what Regulus wanted to hear. “Well,” he sighs after a while, “At least we’ll probably know when he finds it.”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, slumping back against the wall in his back. “Though – do you think that’s what Dumbledore meant? The Hallows, being the Master of Death, as a chance to defeat him?”

“Out of all the explanations, it’s the best one. But I still have no idea how we’re supposed to get the wand, so I propose we keep it in mind without letting it become our only hope?” he says carefully, unwilling to destroy Harry’s optimism completely, but also worrying that it might just side-track them.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and nods. “Yeah. It’s not as if our list of things to find isn’t too long already.”

* * *

Despite his wariness, they talk about the topic often in the following weeks, and he can’t deny that it helps against the monotone repetitiveness.

It’s nearly the end of January when he’s finally back to full health, and they’re still travelling up and down the country, trying to find spots where the weather isn’t too bad. With Hermione and Ron back at Hogwarts and Grimmauld’s, Molly Weasley is slightly placated and they can call Kreacher for food more often, which makes a lot of difference.

Occasionally, they even have him deliver letters between Ron, Hermione, and them, although the news from Hogwarts aren’t any more encouraging than those from Sirius. Ron didn’t find any sign of a Horcrux yet, and neither did Hermione find any other leads.

As with the Order, any success against the harsh regime Snape and his Death Eaters have on the school is short-lived. Still, it does help to hear from the outside world, knowing that they’re not the only ones left.

They’re sitting in front of the tent again, currently pitched up in the Forest of Dean – courtesy to a tip from Hermione – and were just talking about how Regulus’ opinions changed after he actively joined the Death Eaters.

It’s become a thing, Harry asking more direct questions about the letters. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t really mind.

“And you – I mean, obviously, your opinions on blood-supremacy changed but… What about those things like traditions you talked about? That the wizarding world changed to make Muggleborn feel more welcome?” Harry is asking while he’s using a stick to poke around in the frozen ground in front of him.

He sighs and leans back, staring up at the trees above him. “I don’t know, it’s – If holding on to traditions is what leads to something like this war, are they worth keeping? What’s so bad about wanting to create a world where everyone’s comfortable? That’s not to say that I think the rites for Samhain, for example, should be forbidden, but – if you want to celebrate them, go for it. If not, don’t. It’s just a matter of perspective, I guess,” he explains, remembering how unimportant these questions appeared once he was out of school.

Harry nods slowly. “It reminds me of Muggle religion,” he says, abandoning his stick and leaning back as well to press their shoulders together. “Some celebrate Christmas, some don’t. Mind you, they fight about it as well, but it’s just the same, pointless conflict.”

“Not to mention that it’s stupid to expect Muggleborn to assimilate to our culture but never even teach them about it,” Regulus snorts, shaking his head when he remembers the moment he realised that particular hypocrisy.

“So, you don’t – “ Harry cuts himself off and tenses next to him.

Regulus follows the direction of his gaze and goes for his wand when he spots a soft, blueish light that seems to be coming closer.

It’s getting brighter, and they both scramble to their feet simultaneously, the movement slowed by the many layers of clothes they’re both wearing.

“It’s – It looks like a Patronus,” Harry whispers just as it’s close enough to make out a form. “A doe. Look, it is.”

“Still, where did it come from?”

“No idea but – I think it doesn’t mean us harm. Come on,” Harry says, already walking forwards when the bright doe turns again, obviously wanting them to follow.

Regulus makes a quick grab for Harry’s wrist and scowls at him. “Merlin, I don’t know how you’re still alive in the first place but – are you completely mental? We’re not going to follow some random Patronus out of the safety of our wards!”

“Don’t you feel this? This strange familiarity?” Harry asks, then shakes his head as if to dispel the thought. It reminds him of Sirius. “Anyway, I’m going. You can stay here if you want, but – “

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, drawing a deep breath. “As if it’s _my_ safety I’m worried about, you stubborn git. Come on then.”

Harry grins and turns, quickly following the light that’s shimmering through the trees. Regulus follows a few steps behind, his wand clenched tightly in his hand and biting his tongue to keep from telling Harry to be at least more careful.

Their footsteps are the only audible sound in the snow-covered forest, but he still jumps at every little noise and sees movement in every shadow. It feels like they’ve been walking for ages, but he’s sure it has merely been minutes when they arrive at a small clearing.

The doe halts in the middle of it, looking straight at Harry, and then it vanishes.

He can see Harry stop in front of him, the sudden darkness seems to be pressing down on them, and Regulus steps up next to him. “I don’t mean to be petty but – what now?” he asks, and he can hear the tension in his voice.

Harry huffs and lifts his wand higher for the Lumos to lighten the clearing. There’s nothing here but a small pond, and he grinds his teeth together when Harry crouches down to stare into the ice.

“Can we – “

“Reg!” Harry’s low but excited voice interrupts him. “Come here, look!”

He doesn’t bother to hide his groan but does as he’s told. Harry’s holding his wand in a way that makes the light filter through the water, and he rubs his eyes when he notices the glint at the bottom of the lake.

“What the hell,” he mutters when it’s still there, glancing at Harry in confusion, who’s looking pensive.

“It’s the sword,” he says. “See the red rubies? But – how is it _here_?”

“The only explanation is that someone put it there and sent us the Patronus, and that’s not reassuring at all.”

“Not really, no. Accio sword.”

Nothing happens, and Harry sighs as if he has just come to a deeply unwelcome conclusion.

“You know, sometimes Gryffindor really isn’t all that it’s scratched up to be,” he mutters, then drops his wand to the ground and starts pulling off his hoodies.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks despite knowing the answer already, and Harry smiles at him mirthlessly.

“The sword of Gryffindor only shows itself to a true Gryffindor, in a moment of great need. You’re smart, you figure it out. Just keep a look on my stuff while I get it, yeah?” Harry deadpans, the effect rather weak with the way his teeth are clattering already.

Regulus would really like to tell him how stupid of an idea this is, but it sounds exactly like the kind of thing Harry would do, and so he just nods and turns away to keep an eye on their surroundings.

“Diffindo,” Harry casts behind him, then hands him his wand. “If whoever is responsible for this turns up, tell them they’re a sadistic bastard,” he says, and then he jumps into the small pond, water lapping over the edges.

He can see him dive and keeps looking between him and the dark, still forest. No matter how much he racks his brain, there’s no good explanation for this, and he has to keep himself from fidgeting in anxiety.

The water splashes again and he turns; Harry should be back already, but when he squints to make him out under the surface, it looks like he’s struggling.

“Fuck, of bloody course. You blasted Gryffindors and your stupid, thrice-damned ideas,” he curses. The thought alone of jumping into any body of water that’s not a shower makes his hands shake and his blood freeze. The very real fact that he _has no choice_ brings pictures of countless dead faces and the sensation of hands dragging him under to the forefront of his mind.

Harry is still not back, and Regulus is not going to be a coward again.

He clenches his hands into fists, closes his eyes, and draws a deep breath before he jumps. The water is so freezing that it feels like his skin is burning, and his whole body is screaming at him to get out, now.

Ignoring the urge, he opens his eyes and immediately finds Harry, who’s clawing at his neck, but his movements are slow and sluggish already. Regulus grabs him before kicking off the ground.

He pushes him onto the side of the pond before steeling himself once more and quickly dives for the sword. It’s heavier than expected and weirdly warm to the touch but he pays it no mind, just scrambles next to Harry and cuts the still too-tight chain from his throat.

His heart is racing painfully hard in his chest and he crumbles next to Harry, desperately trying to draw some air that doesn’t want to come.

“I hate you,” he croaks anyway. “I hate you and that you made me do this, you bloody bastard. You can be lucky that I like you because I swear to Merlin – “

Harry’s coughing but turns his head to stare at him, a mixture of confusion and pure misery, before understanding washes over his face. He sits up abruptly, staring at the deceptively still water. “Shit, I’m so sorry Reg, you didn’t have to – “

“What, save your life because water still gives me nightmares? I might not be a Gryffindor, but I’m not that heartless,” he says dryly, fumbling for his wand. His hands are still shaking badly, and he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the sheer terror that comes with having his head underwater.

Harry’s silent, suddenly, his eyes flickering between the sword and Regulus while he’s dressing.

“What?”

“Did – did you pull that out of there?” Harry asks, slowly, like he’s not sure he wants to ask in the first place.

Regulus frowns. “Yeah, I went back after I got you out – Great idea to not take off the Horcrux, by the way.”

“Regulus,” Harry says, staring at him intently and then back at the sword.

And then he gets it and can’t help the laugh that’s bubbling out of him. He can hear how hysteric it sounds but he doesn’t care. “You can’t be serious, Harry, please tell me you don’t mean to say what I think you’re saying,” he presses out in between bouts of laughter.

Harry grins, obviously amused, and his eyes are glinting with mirth in the dim light of their wands. “Looks like there’s some Gryffindor in you – rather a lot, all things considered.”

“I’m not going to comment on that,” he says, shaking his head. He finally manages a Drying and a Warming Charm and sighs to himself. “If you’re quite finished, can we go?”

The look on Harry’s face tells him that he desperately wants to keep teasing, but he nods and gestures to the Horcrux and the sword, still lying on the ground between them. “We should destroy it, though.”

The thought sends a spike of excitement through him, nearly enough to wash away the still lingering terror. “Good idea, come on then.”

“You need to do it,” Harry says quietly, not a hint of teasing left in his tone and his eyes bore into Regulus’. “Not only because it should be you after all you’ve gone through for the bloody thing, but also because you got the sword. It needs to be you.”

He swallows, but he knows that Harry is right. Some magic works like this, and even if the mere idea gives him chills, there’s also vindictive pleasure at the prospect of finally doing this.

Harry smiles softly as if he knows what he’s thinking. “I’m going to open it, and you’ll stab it, alright?”

Regulus nods and takes the sword, then halts in his movement. “How do you want to open it?”

“Parseltongue – no idea how I know, but – “

“You speak Parseltongue?” It’s louder than he meant it to be, and he winces at the flinch it causes Harry.

“I thought you knew – did I never mention it?”

He mutely shakes his head. “I’m sure I’d remember. But – anyway, let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Harry still looks vaguely uncomfortable but shakes it off quickly enough, and takes the locket to put it on a flat rock. “I count to three, okay? Ready?”

His grip on the sword tightens; blood is rushing in his ears and his throat is dry as sand, but he nods anyway.

“One – two – three.” A hissing sound follows, and the locket opens with a click.

Revulsion curses through him at the sight of two dark eyes blinking up at him, and it’s joined by terror even greater than anything he already felt this night when the sibilant voice that still haunts his nightmares suddenly speaks.

“Regulus Black. The spare, the coward, the traitor – “

“Do it!”

“So much regret, so much fear. You don’t believe you can ever make up for the things you’ve done, and you’re right. All that blood on your hands, all those lives, just because you wanted to prove your brother wrong, because you were too scared to stand up to your parents – “

“Do it, now!”

He can only stare, every single word twisting his insides, hurting like he’s being hit with Cutting Spells or Bella’s daggers. Every single word true, drawing up memories of raids and screams and pain, so much pain he inflicted on others.

“You wish for forgiveness, a second chance,” the voice goes on, curling around him and seeping into every part of himself. “But who could forgive you?”

“Fuck, Regulus, do it!”

The locket seems to move, something is growing out of it, and he staggers back when convoluted, warped versions of Sirius and Harry appear in front of him, sneering with mocking cruelty.

“You betrayed me,” Sirius hisses, his eyes blazing red and so full of hate.

“And you will betray me. I know it,” the copy of Harry says, vicious disappointment dripping from his every word and hatred written all over his face.

“You’re nothing but a Death Eater, a monster, who thinks he can get away from his past,” they both say, every word sending a new wave of dread and loathing through him, pressing down on him so heavily that he wonders how he’s still standing.

“We were so much better off without you.”

“I wish you never came back, that you weren’t my brother. It would have been better for everyone if you rotted with the Inferi, where you belong. I was right, and you could never admit it,” Sirius finishes.

Ironically, it sends a bolt of warmth through him, of awareness, of pure, hot rage that snaps him out of it. Yes, Sirius was right, and he has admitted that to himself a long time ago.

Finally, he raises the sword and brings it down on the gleaming locket, putting every single ounce of frustration and hate and refusal to accept these words behind it. He may not believe that he can make up for the things he has done, but he’ll be damned if he lets that stop him from trying, from being better for the time he still has.

A blood-curling scream echoes through the forest, the strange imitations of Sirius and Harry dissolving into smoke. He sinks to his knees in utter exhaustion, buries his face into his hands, and tells himself again and again that it’s over.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice sounds from next to him, so different from the cruel mockery of just seconds ago, and the warm hand on his shoulder grounds him more than it has any right to.

He stays in his position, fighting for a grip on his composure and against the urge to lean against Harry, but both seem to be a lost cause.

Harry’s arm wraps around his shoulder completely, and he’s too tired to act like it’s not exactly what he needs right now.

“You know that all it said was bullshit, right? I trust you – I trust you as much as Ron, Hermione, and Sirius, and I know you’ve changed. Sirius does, too. And I think if he can forgive you, the only person more stubborn than I am, then that’s saying a lot, don’t you?” Harry murmurs into the side of his head, and a weak laugh escapes him.

He rubs at his eyes, incredibly thankful that Harry doesn’t outright mention it while still being there.

They stay like this for a while longer, but they’re both shivering violently and, now that he’s calmer again, he also remembers that they’re still out of the wards.

“Let’s go back,” he says, his voice rough as if he has been screaming.

The walk back to their tent feels longer than it should be, and they both collapse on Regulus’ bed as soon as they’re there.

“I’m _so_ going to tell Sirius that you pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of that lake,” Harry mutters against his shoulder, and despite the way his words slur together with exhaustion, he can hear the teasing out of it.

He smiles into the dark. “Well, if you want me to tell him that you followed a random Patronus out of the wards so badly…” he drawls lazily, his smile stretching into a grin when Harry’s head flies up and he squints down at him.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

“Regulus Black, you’re a menace,” Harry groans, lying back down and pressing his face into his neck.

He hums in response, still smiling, and they fall silent again.


	7. I'll Face My Demons Just To Show I'm There

> _23/12/1978_
> 
> _“[…] Everybody tells me the raids will get easier, but if I’m honest, they’re only getting worse. It’s not like the other side doesn’t kill as well, and all I can think of is why it seems so simple for everyone to take a life? To look at someone who knows that they’re about to be murdered. I sometimes wonder if I’d look as wild as them, but then I realise that I rarely have to fear for my very life - I only worry about well-being. It feels like a luxury in the moments I stare into the eyes of someone who knows that all hope is lost, whose last defying act is an attempt to protect others. Sometimes, I don't think I'd be capable of that at all. You always were, though. […]”_

* * *

The success of finding the sword and destroying the locket carries them through the following weeks. They’ve sent letters to Ron and Hermione, and even though the latter spared a full page of parchment to scold them for their imprudence, it’s obvious that they’re both just as excited.

Winter finally gives way to the first signs of spring. They have another cause for a bit of excitement when they get their hands on a Wireless through Kreacher and, thanks to Ron, get to listen to Potterwatch. They celebrate Regulus’ birthday with it, together with a bottle of wine that Sirius sent along, and it’s easily one of the best he ever had.

The fact that they don’t have to wear a Horcrux around their throat 12 hours a day helps too, of course, but all of that only goes so far as the days stretch into weeks and weeks into months without another lead.

Disregarding the whole issue of the war, Regulus is also struggling more with his feelings with each passing day. He’s not sure when it happened, but by now he’s sure that he’s far beyond a simple crush, and sometimes he wishes he could have just a few days away from Harry.

It doesn’t matter what they’re doing; if they’re talking, exchanging stories, or sneaking around under the cloak, or just sitting in silence both doing their own thing – it’s all so bloody comfortable and easy. Every little smile and brief touch makes his heart miss a beat, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to come back from this when all of it will end.

Because one way or another it will; best-case-scenario is that the war is going to end one day, and then Harry will go back to a normal life, and Regulus – well. Regulus will have to deal with being alive 20 years in the future as a barely redeemed Death Eater, and he’s quite sure that there won’t be more than the place of a good friend in Harry’s life.

No matter how many times he tells himself that it’s enough, he believes it less and less.

Sirius is not helpful at all, having way too much fun with grinning at him knowingly or dropping side-remarks whenever they talk over the mirror, and he’s catching himself more and more often trying to interpret more into Harry’s behaviour than is actually there.

The way he catches him staring, sometimes, or how by now they sleep in the same bed more often than not. How, despite being holed up in this small tent for nearly half a year now, his eyes still light up sometimes when he sees him, and all the teasing and banter and shared secrets.

He knows if he lets himself, he could delude himself into the belief that he has a chance. But he’s never been one for optimism and hope, and increasingly often retreats into his books to distract himself from the mess of his emotions.

Thankfully, Harry lets him, reading himself, writing to Ron and Hermione, or tinkering with the small Wireless in the hope of catching some news they didn’t get from their contacts yet.

It’s what he’s currently doing outside of the tent while Regulus is reading the same page of _‘Hogwarts: A History’_ for what feels like the hundredth time. 

None of the words stick, and when Harry comes rushing inside with a bright grin, he closes the book in relief.

“I got it! The password was Albus,” Harry says, a dark look flickering over his face at the name.

Regulus can’t blame him; the more he learns about Dumbledore and all the things he didn’t tell Harry, the more he mourns that the man is already dead. Still, he’s glad when Harry brightens again and puts the small Wireless down, flopping into the chair next to him.

They listen in silence to the new deaths, and then to the rumours about You-Know-Who’s whereabouts, but when it’s mentioned that there are several reports on sightings abroad, Harry sits up straight.

“I’m sure that’s true! Voldemort – “

“Harry, no!” he shouts, jumping up from the chair and drawing his wand.

Several cracks of Apparation are audible at the same moment Regulus flicks his wand to turn off the lights. Harry gets up, staring around the dark tent, and Regulus grips his shoulders.

“Stay still,” he whispers, then points his wand at his face and casts a Glamour before doing the same to himself. “I can’t see much but I think - it doesn’t hide your scar completely, but I changed your eye colour and – “

“What?” Harry hisses back, a mix of confusion and panic as they hear footsteps drawing nearer.

“Glamour – doesn’t change our appearance completely but distorts it slightly. Give me your wand, take mine. Sirius said they’re looking for yours, but it’ll be harder – “

“Yes, yes, here,” Harry interrupts him, pressing his wand into Regulus’ hand and taking his.

They stare at each other in silent horror.

“Come out! You’re surrounded!” A male voice shouts and Regulus is desperately searching for a way out of this, but he comes up blank.

Harry draws a deep breath, and then takes a quick, sudden step forward, curls his hands into the front of Regulus’ jumper, and kisses him, short and firm. “Don’t die, please don’t fucking die,” Harry whispers against his lips.

Regulus’ head is spinning, people are storming into the tent, pulling them apart and outside, and he’s only coming back to himself when he’s shoved face-first onto the ground, his hands bound behind his back.

A part of him wants to laugh hysterically, another to curse Harry for the worst timing of the century, and the last remaining one is still running through ways to get out of this.

“Get them together with the other prisoner and search the tent,” a man orders, his voice strangely familiar.

Regulus risks a look when he’s pulled up and dragged across the ground, and his blood freezes at the sight of Fenrir Greyback. He keeps his face blank though, knowing how much Greyback relishes in seeing the fear he puts into everyone – the only reason You-Know-Who keeps him around at all, or at least that was the reason during the first war.

“Now, who do we have here,” he leers, looking between Harry and Regulus. When neither of them answers, he steps closer and crouches down, his foul breath making him want to gag.

“Your names!”

“Dudley – Vernon Dudley,” Harry stammers out, and Regulus would bet his wand arm that it’s the first Merlin-damn thing that came to his mind.

He sighs quietly to himself and meets Greyback’s eyes. “Ronald Dudley. We’re brothers.”

“Are you, now.”

“They look like Hogwarts age,” another man speaks up, then nods towards Harry. “Especially that one.”

“We left,” Regulus quickly says while his hand finds Harry’s behind themselves. There are two more people bound to them, but he’d have to twist his neck to make them out.

“Easy enough to figure out. Which houses were you in?”

“Slytherin,” Harry answers, and Regulus wants to groan because this can only go wrong.

The second man laughs. “That’s what they all say.”

“The common room is in the dungeons, and you enter through a stretch of wall. It’s decorated in dark tones, and everything seems kind of greenish because the windows face into the Great Lake,” Harry states confidently, and Regulus has to force himself to not whip his head around and gape at him. It’s rather unimportant right now, but it still throws up so many questions.

“Who’s your father then?” Greyback goes on, all his attention on Harry now, and Regulus lists curses in his head he’d like to try on the bastard as soon as he gets his wand back.

“He works at the Ministry, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,” Harry says calmly, his hand squeezing Regulus’. He’s not even sure if Harry is making all of this up or if there’s actually any strategy to it.

“I think there is a Dudley there,” the second man answers, and Regulus notes how Greyback tenses ever so slightly.

He knows it’s not enough before Greyback says that, in that case, a trip to the Ministry won’t hurt them, and then it all goes to hell when someone returns with the sword of Gryffindor and makes a remark how Regulus looks a lot like Sirius Black, searched for his association with Harry Potter and rumoured to be travelling with him.

His outraged denial only gets him a hard slap to the face, Greyback notices the distorted scar on Harry’s forehead, and someone turns up with Harry’s glasses which he must have lost when they were dragged out of the tent.

Greyback’s already celebrating his catch of Harry Potter, the 200.000 Galleons he’ll get for him and the wand, plus the 50.000 for Sirius’ head. Regulus doesn’t know why he’s surprised at the amount; his brother is a nuisance on the best of days. The only consolation is that his Glamours are good enough to keep Greyback from calling You-Know-Who there and then.

Greyback and his lackeys spend a lot of time on fighting, but eventually, they’re taken to Malfoy Manor. The house looms over the vast grounds as it always did, and Regulus could have done without ever returning here; he never liked Lucius Malfoy, and he would have preferred to at least have his wand and not be dragged sideways by Fenrir fucking Greyback.

Narcissa meets them at the door, and for the fraction of a second, he’s terrified that she’s going to recognize him.

“We caught Harry Potter and Sirius Black,” Greyback says imperiously, and Narcissa’s eyes slip off to his side.

“My son is home for the holidays, he should be able to tell if this is Harry Potter,” she says coldly, and they’re dragged into the drawing-room.

Regulus is weirdly calm. He knows he should be panicking, that there’s no possible way out of this if anyone calls the Dark Lord, but Harry’s hand is still grasping his tightly, there’s a vivid memory of warm, chapped lips pressed against his, of _‘Please don’t fucking die,_ ’ and he simply thinks that the universe can’t be this unfair.

Lucius is so euphoric at the prospect of handing Harry Potter to the Dark Lord that Regulus has to suppress gagging, but when his son repeatedly says, “I’m not sure,” a flicker of hope starts burning in his chest.

“What about him, then!” Greyback snarls, pushing and shoving until it’s Regulus who stands directly under the chandelier. “It’s Black, right? He’s your cousin – you should know.”

Narcissa steps forward, staring into his face for long moments with a slight sneer. “He looks rather too young, don’t you think? On the other hand, Sirius has always been vain, so it might be a spell or a potion.”

Regulus is physically unable to stop the bark of laughter. “You – _you_ are calling me vain? That’s so fucking rich, coming from you.” 

Harry chokes beside him, and he knows it’s stupid but they’re all so utterly pathetic and he can only hope that he’s never going to be like that again. He doesn’t even want to start on the fact that they’re giving Sirius a bit too much credit here, as far as he’s concerned.

“Sounds like Sirius, too,” she sniffs before turning away and inspecting the wand Greyback gave her as Harry’s. “Though this doesn’t look like the wand Ollivander described.”

The flicker of hope grows, only to die a gruesome death at the voice that comes from the door. “What’s going on here?”

He feels Harry go rigid, and the knowledge that he’s as terrified of Bellatrix as Regulus is only makes it worse.

“We found Potter,” Lucius boasts, obviously choosing to ignore the doubts, and Bellatrix gives a demented whoop of joy, already pulling up her sleeve.

“I will call the Dark Lord, this is my house!” Lucius roars. The two of them start scabbling, Greyback pipes in that it was he who caught them, and Regulus thinks that absolutely nothing has changed.

He jumps slightly when Bellatrix suddenly screeches and storms forward. “What is this!” she screams, tearing the sword out of one of the Snatchers’ hands. “Don’t call the Dark Lord! We’re all going to die if he comes now!” she adds, turning back to Lucius, sword in her hand and looking as mad as ever.

Some of the Snatchers are obviously dumb enough or have no self-preservation at all, attempting to lay claim to the sword, and all of them except for Greyback end up stunned in a corner.

Eventually, Greyback answers her that they’ve found it in the tent.

“Bring them into the cellar,” Bellatrix orders, then smiles at him in a manner that has never promised anything good. “Except for Sirius, here. Let’s have some fun with the blood-traitor.”

“No! Leave him alone!” Harry shouts, struggling against their bonds so harshly that it nearly knocks all of them off their feet.

Regulus squeezes his hand so tightly it must be painful and twists his neck to hiss, “Kreacher, call Kreacher,” just as Bellatrix tears him away from the group.

Harry is still shouting obscenities and struggling against Greyback, and the sound is only cut off by the loud thud of what has to be the door to the cellar.

The first Crucio catches him by surprise like he’s the biggest fool, and he can hear his screams echo through the room. The pain seems to swallow him whole, but the only thought drumming in his head is that it’s better than Harry being here.

When she lifts the spell, he’s twitching on the floor and flinches at how her face hovers over his. “Where did you get that sword? How did you get into my vault at Gringotts! Tell me, now!”

“Fuck you,” he spits, because it’s what Sirius would say, and he also just bloody feels like it. She’s going to torture him anyway and he’s in pain and terrified, but he also gets some twisted pleasure out of seeing her face contort with rage.

The second Crucio is stronger but he knows it’s coming, and he sinks his teeth into his lip, refusing to scream again. It goes on and on, the taste of copper somewhere on the periphery of his mind, but he won’t budge. He _won’t_ , not anymore, no matter if that makes it harder or not.

She’s still screaming about the sword and her vault when she lifts the spell again, ugly red splotches high on her cheeks, and he grins up at her with his limbs trembling and the feeling of blood running down his chin.

It’s weirdly exhilarating, even though he’s aware that he must look quite demented. There’s just something about refusing to beg that runs against every ounce of self-preservation he ever had. Or maybe it doesn’t – it’s not like begs and pleas ever did anything to stop Bellatrix’s love for torture.

There are more Crucios, but even she seems to realise at some point that it’s not getting her very far. She crouches down next to him, a nasty grin twisting her lips. “You know Sirius, you _do_ look rather like Regulus. You always tried to protect the little baby, and look how great of a job you did. I bet it’s eating you inside out – I heard you scream his name in Azkaban sometimes, did you know?”

It knocks the last remains of breath out of him, though not for the reason she’s aiming for.

Sirius would hate this, and even though his thoughts are barely coherent at this point, he laughs up at her. “Oh dear Bella, you always were exceptionally stupid. I see Azkaban has not been as kind to you.”

There’s a brief moment when he wonders if he has finally gone mad like the rest of his family, but the thought vanishes when another Crucio hits him. His nerves feel like they’re fraying at the seams and he doesn’t manage to keep all the screams in anymore; it’s just too much, goes on for too long, his mind shutting down further and further to escape this.

He doesn’t let it though, he _can’t_. Harry’s still down in the cellar, relying on his Glamour, and they’re going to get out of here. He clings to that thought, repeating its broken fractures over and over until it’s only a litany of Harry’s name alone.

The next time she lifts the curse, he has to spit out blood to not choke on it, coughs wrecking his whole body, and he’s not sure if he could get up if he had to.

“Well,” she sneers, her wand tapping against her leg impatiently. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll just have to ask your dear little godson, don’t I?”

“No!” It’s out before he can stop himself, and her self-satisfied smirk makes him want to hit himself. His mind is racing, stumbling over words and options while he just wants to give in to the darkness at the edge of his vision. “It’s a fake,” he finally croaks, not knowing where it comes from but by now, he takes what he can get.

She stills, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“The sword – it’s a fake,” he coughs again, his vision blurry and his breathing ragged.

“Don’t lie to me!” she snarls, already raising her wand again, and he closes his eyes in resignation. As long as it’s him it doesn’t matter, just not Harry, not – 

Lucius clears his throat, and Regulus forgot that they’re not alone. “There’s an easy way to find out, isn’t there? Draco, get the Goblin.”

Regulus meets the young boys’ eyes for the fraction of a second, his face deathly pale and terrified. It reminds him uncomfortably of himself, not so long ago.

Silence hangs heavy over the room while they wait. He’s certain that the Goblin won’t lie for him, and simply tries to get as much out of the short break as possible.

He’s fading in and out of awareness while Bellatrix interrogates the Goblin, though he does catch the loud sound coming from downstairs and that Lucius sends Pettigrew down to investigate.

There’s a faint memory of telling Harry to call Kreacher and he clings to the hope, but it’s hard to focus on anything for too long. He’s so very _tired._

A delighted shriek from Bellatrix startles him back into the present, and he stares in horror as she presses her finger to the ugly mark on her forearm.

He struggles to move, to sit up, to do something, _anything_ to get them out of here. Harry’s name is still pounding through his head, together with the desperate thought that they can’t die, not now, not yet, _not like this._ But his body is beyond its limits, and the only thing he achieves with his struggle is to pull her attention back to him.

She smiles down at him, then turns towards Greyback. “He’s yours,” is all she says before turning away, and Regulus closes his eyes in resignation.

Between the Inferi and Greyback, he’s not sure what’s worse.

Before the dreaded, filthy hands can touch him, there are two loud shouts of “NO!” and his eyes fly back open, instantly settling on the two familiar people storming into the room.

“Expelliarmus!” and “Stupefy!” sound at the same time, and a weak smile twitches on his lips at the sight of Harry and Sirius taking out Bellatrix and Lucius.

He’s just starting to wonder if he might be hallucinating, if his mind has finally cracked because it makes no sense for Sirius to be here, when he feels cold metal press against his throat.

“Drop your wands or I’m going to kill him,” Bellatrix’s voice sounds next to his ear. At least it’s not going to be Greyback.

“Whoever this is,” she adds, gripping his hair and pulling his head back. “Seeing that our new arrival looks so much more like Sirius than he does. So, who is this?”

Sirius and Harry are both frozen to the spot, staring at the two of them and still clinging to their wands. He meets Harry’s eyes, and something shifts in his mind, settles in his stomach, and he clears his throat.

“Leave. Just leave without me, it’s fine,” he croaks, wincing when Bellatrix’s grip on his hair tightens but refusing to break eye contact.

Harry shakes his head and glares. “Never, absolutely not – “

“Very touching,” Bellatrix interrupts, her voice shivering with anger. “But I told you to tell me who this is and to drop your wands. Draco, collect them.”

The knife presses harder against his skin and he feels blood run down his throat, but he barely feels the pain. He opens his mouth to say something because even if Bellatrix doesn’t kill him, the Dark Lord will be here any second, and he’s not going to die without –

A loud crack makes everyone in the room jump, a loud bang follows, and Bellatrix lets go of him so abruptly that he collapses where he stands.

“Nobody gets to hurt Master Regulus!” a high voice echoes through the room, followed by another crash.

“Kreacher,” he laughs, and he can feel tears starting to roll down his face. He draws from his last remains of strength, so very worth it when he sees Bellatrix crumpled on the floor in front of the hearth.

“What – Kreacher?” Narcissa repeats, taking a step forward, but as soon as she does, her wand flies out of her hand.

“I said nobody hurts Master Regulus,” Kreacher repeats, his glare so fierce that Regulus is kind of surprised that it doesn’t set her on fire where she stands.

Narcissa shakes her head slowly, then looks over to him. “Regulus? But – that’s impossible.”

Harry, bless him, uses the moment to jump over the distance between him and Draco to wrestle the wands from him he collected earlier. He throws one to Sirius who uses it instantly to bind both Narcissa and Draco while Harry sends a Stunner at Greyback that crashes him into a wall.

“As touching as this little family reunion is,” Sirius drawls, a lazy smirk on his face as he strides over to the Goblin. “I think we rather leave now. Accio wands.” Three wands come flying from where Greyback lies, and Regulus wants to hug him for remembering this.

Harry appears at his side, his face pale and eyes so terribly concerned, and he wraps an arm around Regulus’ waist to pull him to his feet. Kreacher joins them at the same moment Sirius does.

“Ready?” Sirius asks, and before any of them can answer, Kreacher turns on the spot, pulling them into the sensation of Apparation. He still sees Bellatrix move, but he’s too relieved, too tired, and in too much pain to pay it any mind, as little as to the question where they’re going.

A groan wrenches itself out of him as they land, the movement reverberating through every part of his body, and only Harry’s arms around him keep him from toppling over again.

Harry’s clutching him so tightly that he can barely breathe, his face pressed into Regulus’ neck with his whole body trembling.

He clenches his hands into Harry’s jumper and closes his eyes. “It’s fine, I’m fine, we’re fine,” he repeats, over and over as his voice breaks over every other word, and he’s not sure who’s reassuring who between them.

A pained groan finally tears them apart. Sirius is kneeling on the floor, one hand pressed against his side where a dark stain is slowly spreading through his jacket.

“Hey Reg,” he croaks, still grinning slightly. “You’re wearing a hoodie.”

He frowns, leaning against the wall in his back instead of putting all his weight on Harry. “Yeah?”

“And – and your hair. It’s actually in a – in a fucking bun!” Sirius goes on, laughing weakly and then winces instantly.

“Sirius, you’re hurt,” Harry says, a note of panic in his voice as he stumbles over. His face is contorted too though, and he staggers slightly.

“You – you look so casual,” Sirius says, still staring at him with a weird mix of amusement and pain.

Regulus shakes his head. Sirius has always focused on inconsequential things when he’s hurt, and it’s weirdly comforting that it hasn’t changed. “I didn’t know that living in a tent required me to dress like I’m about to go to some stuffy Pureblood gala,” he says, tilting his head and ignoring Harry’s disbelieving glare.

A cough cuts off Sirius’ answer, but he opens his mouth again as soon as it’s over, though he’s rather paler than before. “Alright, who are you – “

“Sirius, shut up!” Harry snaps, gripping Sirius’ shoulder tightly. “And lie down, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m fine – “

“There’s a dagger in your side, you’re not!” Harry snarls, panic written all over his face by now.

Regulus tears his eyes away, for the first time wondering where they are and strangely surprised to recognise Sirius’ room at Grimmauld Place. The Goblin is sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall and still holding on to the sword, while Kreacher stands in front of the door, watching them all apprehensively.

“Kreacher, bring me some Pain Reliever, Blood Replenisher, and – “

“Is there someone else here?” Harry interrupts him with a brief, apologetic glance.

Kreacher nods. “Kreacher has locked the door though.”

“Right. Who’s here?” Harry asks, his knuckles white where he’s still gripping Sirius’ shoulders.

“The werewolf, two Aurors, all the redheads –“ Kreacher starts, and Harry winces slightly before he sighs.

“Get Remus for me, would you?”

Kreacher nods and pops away, only Sirius’ groans filling the room.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Regulus says tentatively, staring at the door with dread pooling in his stomach.

Harry shrugs and attempts a weak smile. “Now that the Death Eaters know you’re back, it’s only a matter of time until the news spread because you’re searched, too. Better to inform the Order now than have them look for you as well.”

Unfortunately, he can’t argue with that; he just wishes he was in a better condition.

Kreacher returns with Lupin, whose eyes instantly settle on Harry and Sirius. “What happened? Kreacher turned up with Ollivander and two students, and – “

“Remus, he’s hurt,” Harry interrupts, gesturing to Sirius who by now looks like there’s barely any blood left in his face. “Bellatrix got him with a knife.”

“Bellatrix?” Lupin exclaims, crossing the short distance between them and crouching down next to Sirius, just missing another flinch of pain from Harry.

“We were captured,” Harry mutters, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Kreacher, do you have the potions?”

Kreacher hands him some vials before also pressing one into Regulus’ hand. The movement finally draws Lupin’s attention to Regulus, and he frowns.

“We? Harry, who – “

“Remus, for fuck’s sake. Stitch Sirius up first, would you?” Harry snaps, glaring like he’s seconds away from hexing Lupin if he doesn’t.

Apparently, Lupin notices it as well, or at least the severity of the situation, and the next few minutes go by with low incantations. It’s enough time for the Pain Reliever to finally take the edge off Regulus’ aching nerves, and he smiles gratefully at Kreacher when he hands him a PepperUp as well.

He still feels wrung out and the tremble in his hands lingers, but he doesn’t need the wall to hold him up anymore and can form coherent thoughts again.

Lupin levitates Sirius on the bed, and at Harry’s anxious expression, smiles slightly. “He’ll be fine in a few days. Now, does anyone else need patching up?”

“What about you, Griphook?” Harry addresses the Goblin, who mutely nods and gestures to his legs. “Then let’s find a room for you and go downstairs. Are Ron and Hermione here?”

Lupin nods, glancing at Regulus again but obviously deciding to wait with his questions. He’s not convinced that it’s going to be better in a kitchen full of Order members, but he’s also too tired to seriously care all that much. It can’t be worse than Bellatrix.

The urge to press closer to Harry is immense, to ask him if he’s alright, but it feels like the words are getting stuck in his throat. Now that they have the worst behind them, doubts are starting to creep up on him, making him question if that single kiss really meant what he wants it to.

Adrenaline and fear lead people to do strange things, and he’d rather not see the regret and pity on Harry’s face. Maybe it’s better to keep it as one, fond memory and simply move on.

He forcibly shoves all thoughts related to that away when they reach the ground floor, and he follows Lupin and Harry into the kitchen, carefully keeping the trepidation off his face.

“Harry!” Two voices shout as soon as they step through the door, both female, and he can only make out a blur of red barrelling into Harry, while Hermione hangs back slightly.

She catches sight of Regulus and smiles brightly, and suddenly he’s pulled into a tight hug that catches him so much by surprise that he tenses. Hermione draws back and swats his arm lightly, then looks him up and down with a stern look. “Are you alright? Dean and Luna told us a few things after Kreacher brought them, but they were both exhausted. We were so worried!”

“I’m fine,” he says quietly, squeezing her shoulder before letting his eyes wander through the room. They’ve pulled attention, and there are at least ten people inside here, all watching them. Or well, him, mostly.

Harry is still talking to the red-headed girl who’s most likely Ginny; his chest tightens, and he quickly averts his eyes.

“Harry,” Lupin says, his voice quiet but commanding, and Harry sighs audibly before turning towards the room at large. “Who is this?”

Their eyes meet briefly, and then Harry draws himself upright and raises his chin ever so slightly. “That’s Regulus Black, Sirius’ brother.”

Most look confused, but Lupin’s frown deepens and he scrutinises Regulus once again. It’s uncomfortable and rather rude, but he refuses to be intimidated and meets his gaze calmly.

Their eye-contact is broken when Ron gets up from the table and walks over to stand next to him, flashing him a small grin.

“You mean Regulus Black, died 1979, was a Death Eater,” Lupin says slowly, watching Harry again whose eyes flash at the last part.

It’s Hermione who speaks up though, her voice calm. “It’s a long story. There was time-travel involved and – well, actually, rather a lot of things we can’t tell you.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” a man with long, red hair says from where he’s leaning against a counter, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes calculating.

Harry huffs and runs a hand through his hair. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “We trust him. He defected in 1979 and has been with us – me since October.”

“You were on the run with a Death Eater?” a red-headed woman screeches, most likely Ron’s mother, and Regulus grinds his teeth together.

“Harry, at least tell us what happened,” Lupin commands, taking a step closer.

“Sirius trusts him. I trust him, Ron and Hermione do. It has to be enough,” Harry says, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his voice barely constrained.

Several people shake their heads, and he can see a few of them reach for their wands. “It’s not,” Lupin says, taking another step into their direction.

Harry draws a deep breath. “I’d love to explain it to you and believe me, you would understand if I could. But it’s connected to Dumbledore’s last task for me and, as you know, I can’t tell you about that. So, you simply have to take my word for it.”

Lupin reaches for Harry’s shoulder, who takes a deliberate step back. Lupin’s hand falls to his side, slipping into his pocket. “How could he possibly be connected to that? He died in 1979, supposedly anyway. You can’t possibly trust _him_ but not _us_!” 

Regulus can pinpoint the exact moment Harry’s hold on his temper slips, and if the low sighs to his left and right are anything to go by, Ron and Hermione can, too. A glance at them shows him that they merely look like they’ve expected this and think that it’s not their problem.

Harry’s eyes are flashing as he takes a step towards Lupin, invading his personal space. His voice is low and trembling with fury, and Regulus has never seen him this angry. “Well, didn’t _Dumbledore_ – “ he spits the name like it tastes foul in his mouth – “tell you to trust me?”

He waits until there’s an uncomfortable murmur of agreement in the room, and only then goes on, a mirthless smile twisting his lips. “So, how about you fucking do that instead of treating me like a bloody child every time it’s convenient, while also expecting me to save all your sorry arses?”

Ron snorts next to him, then quickly raises his hands when all eyes turn to him. “Well, he does have a point.”

The silence that follows is oppressive, and all Regulus wants is to flee the room and bury himself in his bed.

“Nobody else got anything to say?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows. “Fucking spectacular. We just escaped Malfoy Manor, my head feels like it’s going to split open any second, and I still have the feeling of bloody Wormtail’s wand on my hands. So, if you’ll excuse me,” he snarls, then turns on his heel, only to stop at the door again and turn back to look at Lupin.

“Pettigrew is dead, by the way. Good riddance, Sirius finally got his revenge, while Regulus was tortured by Bellatrix,” he says, throwing a wand to Lupin who catches it absent-mindedly, his face pale and eyes wide.

Nobody says anything when Harry leaves the room and he, Ron, and Hermione follow. They reach the second landing and halt in front of the sitting room, but Regulus’ mind is whirring with what feels like a thousand things, and he just can’t do this right now.

“I’m going to lie down for a while,” he says, eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Harry’s right shoulder. His chest feels too tight and his throat is burning, and he so desperately needs to be alone right now that he doesn’t wait for an answer before hurrying up the stairs as fast as he can manage.

He can hear that Harry calls something after him, and just answers with a strangled, “I’m fine,” before he shuts the door behind him and collapses on his bed, pressing his face into the pillow.

Memories are flickering through his mind, changing scenes before he can really grasp them and creating a weird mix of things he’d rather forget and those he wants to hold on to. Whenever he’s drifting off, Bellatrix’s screams jolt him awake again, phantom pain gripping his body in random intervals, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he doesn’t have a wand on him.

He’s tossing and turning, but also can’t bring himself to get back up. The idea of calling Kreacher to ask for a Dreamless Sleep Potion is just forming when there’s a soft knock on the door.

For a moment, he contemplates ignoring it, but he also kind of hopes that it’s Harry, and quietly calls, “Enter,” after sitting up. 

It is Harry, slipping into the room but staying by the door after he closes it. “Are you alright?” he asks, all the hardness and anger from earlier gone from his face, replaced by a concerned frown.

“Yeah. Actually, no. I just – why did you kiss me?” It’s out before he can stop himself, a testament to the chaos of his thoughts, and he winces at the startled look on Harry’s face.

He leans back against the headboard, pulling his knees towards his chest and runs a hand over his face. “Forget it, I – “

“No! I mean – Can I sit down?” Harry asks hesitantly, waiting until Regulus nods to sit crossed legged at the side of the bed, facing him. “I – I wanted to. For a while, actually but – I wasn’t… I was scared you wouldn’t, and I – I didn’t want to mess anything up but when the Snatchers came, I thought – if we died… And you didn’t _know_ – “

Harry’s ears have turned a soft shade of red and he’s staring at the blanket in front of him, his hands twisting nervously into the fabric. It’s much more endearing than it has any right to, but Regulus’ heart has lodged itself in his throat so firmly that he can’t get a single word out.

Not that he knows what he’s supposed to say; there are a thousand things and none at all, and with each passing second of silence he can see Harry’s face shutter further.

“I’m sorry if – I should have asked you, not spring it on you like that,” Harry murmurs, his voice rough and strained as he turns his head to stare out of the dark window. “I should have known that… I mean, I completely understand why you wouldn’t want – “

“No!” he finally forces his voice to work and shakes his head wildly while willing his body to just bloody comply. 

Harry stares at him, his eyes bright behind his glasses and his lips pressed into a thin line. His whole posture and expression are so defeated, so unlike _Harry,_ that it makes his chest clench further.

“I – I should go,” Harry sighs, moving to get up. “Just… sleep, and maybe – maybe we can talk tomorrow. I didn’t mean to make things awkward between us, but if you need – “

Fuck, but he’s messing this up so badly. How can he laugh in Bellatrix’s face after years of being terrified of her, but this is beyond him?

His hand shoots forward to grip Harry’s wrist and he closes his eyes, counting the fast beating of his pulse _, one, two, three,_ then draws a deep breath and looks back at Harry, whose whole face is scrunched up in obvious confusion.

“Would you – would you do it again? _Please_?” It’s barely a whisper, he’s not even sure if Harry could have possibly heard him, and he tugs softly at his wrist. “If you want to, that is,” he adds, slightly steadier, while his heart still seems to try beating out of his chest.

After a beat, a slow, incredulous smile stretches over Harry’s face, and it’s easily the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Are you sure?”

Words are still difficult; he’s not even sure that he’s not just dreaming, or hallucinating, or that his self-doubts won’t rear their ugly heads any second now, and so he moves out of his curled-up position, mirroring Harry’s, and lets go of his wrist in favour of touching the side of his neck.

They both lean in slowly, only pressing their foreheads together before he angles his head, brushing his lips against Harry’s carefully.

Harry’s fingers ghost over his jaw, the gesture so tender that it nearly makes him choke, and he tangles his hand into his hair to pull him into a deeper kiss.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he murmurs against his lips, kissing him again and again. His head is spinning, and he has the ridiculous sensation that he’d float away if Harry wasn’t holding his face between both of his hands now, firmly and grounding and _safe_ , and he never wants this to stop. 

When they eventually break apart, the first slivers of light are filtering through the window, washing the room into soft colours. They moved at some point, now lying face to face with the blanket pulled up to their shoulders. Harry’s glasses got lost long ago, and he looks soft like this, all open affection and quiet happiness.

“To ask if you’re okay after what happened today feels stupid, but are you?” Harry asks quietly, his fingers drawing circles into his wrist while his eyes roam over Regulus’ face.

He smiles and shrugs, turning his hand to link their fingers together. “That may sound weird or even mad but, yeah. Of course, it was horrible, but it was also… Freeing, to not give in. I was always terrified of Bellatrix and let her push me around, but – “ _‘I had something to fight for,’_ is what he can’t bring himself to say, and so he shrugs again.

“No, I get what you mean. It’s not weird, or at least I hope so,” Harry says, squeezing his hand. “When – in fourth year, in the graveyard, as he gave me the chance to duel, I was sure that I’m going to die. But I thought, at least I’ll face him, and it made all the difference. Doesn’t mean his Crucio doesn’t hurt like a bitch, but…”

“His is worse than Bellatrix’s,” he says with a grimace, remembering too well how much he used to dread pulling You-Know-Who’s displeasure above everyone else’s.

Harry rolls his eyes and nudges him. “It’s not a competition, and I’m sure hers is bad enough, especially as long as it took us to get you out of there. She enjoys that shit just as much as You-Know-Who does, I’m sure.”

He snorts and rolls onto his back, pulling Harry with him so that he’s lying with his head on Regulus’ shoulder. “She does, I’m not sure who’s the bigger sadist between the two of them. And I’m glad it was me up there, not you.”

“Fuck, no! Reg – “

“Not because I think I deserve it,” he interrupts before Harry can work himself into a rant. “Just – I think it would have driven me insane, to know you’re at her mercy.”

“Yes well,” Harry huffs, pressing closer. “Then you know how I felt, hearing you scream down in that bloody cellar.”

Regulus turns his head to press his face into Harry’s hair and closes his eyes for a moment. “Alright, then let’s agree to both avoid getting tortured?” he offers, grinning to himself when Harry huffs again. “Anyway, that reminds me – what happened? Why was Sirius there, and what was that about Pettigrew?”

“I called Kreacher, as you said, and for some reason I still don’t know, he came with Sirius,” Harry says, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. “We sent him back to Grimmauld’s with Luna, Dean, and Ollivander, but the sound of his Apparation must have been audible upstairs.”

He nods, remembering that faintly. “All things considered, it’s probably good Sirius came,” he mutters.

“Oh yes, and you can’t imagine how delighted he was when it was Wormtail of all people who came down there. He had him bound and silenced within seconds, and I think only hearing you scream – “ Harry’s voice breaks and he stops for a moment, his grip on Regulus’ hand tightening. “It was the only thing keeping him from holding a long, dramatic speech before he killed him.”

“You don’t sound as happy about it as you did earlier,” he states, running his free hand up Harry’s back to card his fingers through his hair.

Harry leans into the touch and sighs softly. “I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy or that he didn’t deserve it or whatever. I just think – my father wouldn’t have wanted Sirius to become a murderer. At least I want to believe that, it’s what I told him and Remus in third year. And maybe that’s naïve, and I mean, look where it got me, but…”

“It’s not,” he says quietly. “I think it’s an honourable thought and it’s – Salazar this sounds cheesy, but it’s what makes you a good person. No matter how justified, to not seek vengeance, to not want to kill is nothing to worry about. Quite the opposite, really.”

“I don’t really feel like a good person,” Harry mutters, and Regulus isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that at all.

“Why not?” he asks anyway, because it’s such a strange sentiment from someone like Harry, and he has the impression that this is not some false humility; it’s unlike Harry.

Harry sighs and is silent for a while before he starts talking hesitantly, like he’s worried about Regulus’ reaction. “These visions – I’ve never told you but… It’s as if I’m him. I see through his eyes, I think his thoughts, I – I feel what he feels. His rage, his hate, his delight when he kills someone. It’s like I’m him, and even though Dumbledore said it’s because the curse transferred a part of him to me, like being able to speak Parseltongue, for example, it’s just… terrifying.” 

It’s like someone has dropped a bucket of ice over him, and he has to push some of the ideas that spring up in his mind behind his Occlumency-shields to not let the dread pooling in his stomach show.

“I think it just shows all the more that you’re not a bad person. It’s easy to get lost in the sense of power, but you’re horrified by it,” he says when he’s sure that his voice won’t break. “You’re a good person, Harry, and I’ll fight anyone who dares to tell you differently.”

Harry snorts softly and presses a kiss to Regulus’ palm. “You know, by your definition, you’re a good person too, right?”

“You can’t compare that – “

“Shush, don’t argue with me. We just got together,” Harry interrupts him, his voice full of teasing, but Regulus’ freezes at the last part and has to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat.

He forces himself to relax when Harry lets go of his hand and props himself up on an elbow to look down at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume – “ Harry says, frowning and biting his bottom lip.

He shakes his head and tangles his hand into Harry’s hair to pull him into a kiss. “Don’t be. I want to,” he murmurs against his lips, the words easier as long as his eyes are closed. “At least as long as you do, too.”

“I thought I made that obvious,” Harry laughs softly, pulling back to look at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told,” he grins, happiness bubbling in his stomach while his heart is racing in his chest. “Though if I remember correctly, it was you who snapped at the whole Order today.”

Harry rolls his eyes before lying back down. “Well, they’re even bigger idiots, and not of the endearing sort,” he says, his fingers back to drawing circles into Regulus’ wrist.

“I won’t say they’re not, but I can understand where they’re coming from. I wouldn’t trust someone who’s supposed to be dead and, you know, last time they saw him was fighting for the other side, either.”

“Aren’t we having nice pillow-talk topics,” Harry grumbles, but then he sighs. “You’re right, I could have handled that better. But I also meant what I said; they all talk about how I’m their only hope and all that rot, and then they turn around and treat me like a child.”

“I never said it wasn’t justified, did I?” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “It’s – not ridiculous but… I have no idea how it feels to be expected to save all these adults, and I think you’re handling it rather well, all things considered.”

Hell, he was already overwhelmed with expectations only from his family, and everyone knows how well he coped with that.

“Yes, well, I have rather good help,” Harry retorts, the grin audible in his voice. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, and Regulus tightens the grip of his arm around Harry’s shoulder in response.

They fall silent, and he’s slowly starting to drift off. Harry is warm against his side, his fingers still running over his palm and wrist, and he can’t remember ever being this comfortable and just – _happy_. He has no idea what he did to deserve this, or if he does at all, but he wouldn’t be able to pull away if he wanted to.

“Hey Reg,” Harry murmurs after a while, and when he hums in response, hesitates a moment before he says, “Can I ask you something?”

It sounds more serious than he expected, and he blinks his eyes open to turn his head and look at him. “Anything.”

Harry’s thumb runs over the inside of his wrist and he clears his throat. “What happened to your arm?”

It’s only now that he realises that it’s his left wrist, and a bolt of panic jolts through him before he reminds himself that this is Harry, that he basically already knows. Still, his heart is beating in his throat when he lifts the arm to push his sleeve back awkwardly.

With all the camping over winter, it has been easy to hide the hideous mark and what he had to do to cut the connection to You-Know-Who, and he avoids looking at it as much as he can. Weirdly enough, all he feels right now is a vague discomfort instead of the revulsion and self-loathing he used to associate with it.

“The scars are runes,” he explains when Harry runs his fingers over the faint, white lines that cover the inner side of his whole forearm, crisscrossing through the black skull and the snake. “It was the only way to cut the connection, or at least make it go dormant. I didn’t think it would hold, just enough for the cave, but it has been nothing more than a tattoo since I arrived here.”

“How can you tell?” Harry asks, merely curious, and it loosens another tight knot in his chest.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says, frowning to himself. “I don’t know, I just always felt it before. A certain sense of awareness that there was a connection to something, I guess? But in an oppressive way, as if you’re being watched.”

Harry hums, then tugs at his hand to press another kiss to his palm. “I’m glad it’s not bothering you any longer.”

Regulus closes his eyes to somehow keep another wave of emotions inside and wraps both arms around Harry. “Yeah, me too. You have no idea how much – or well, you probably do.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Harry murmurs into his chest, his arm settling around Regulus’ waist, and a part of him wishes they could just stay like this, in this room, and pretend that nothing on the other side of the door is real. 


	8. I Don't Love Anyone, But You're Not Just Anyone

> _20/06/1979_
> 
> _“[…] Sometimes… sometimes I think the Dark Lord goes about it the wrong way. I mean – wouldn’t it make more sense to try going the political route? To simply kill everyone who opposes him, to sacrifice his followers in the process can’t be the smartest strategy, right? There are only so many people who can be convinced to do his dirty work, or who he can put under the Imperius. Not that I’d ever tell him that, I quite like being alive. Still, sometimes I wonder how our family can support him so much. ~~Maybe I just can’t stand all this violence anymore~~. […]”_

* * *

They can’t have been asleep for long when Harry jerks violently enough to wake him up.

Regulus grabs for his wand before the thought processes. He frowns when the place under his pillow is empty until he remembers that they’re at Grimmauld Place and that his wand is still with Sirius. Hopefully.

Harry is still struggling next to him, and he carefully shakes his shoulder to wake him up. The room is dim and the house silent, and if he wasn’t still feeling like he was run over by the Hogwarts Express, he’d think it’s evening instead of early morning.

“What? – Shit,” Harry groans when he finally wakes up, his hand flying to his scar before he sits up straight. “Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Come on.”

He’s out of the bed before Regulus can stop him, and for a second, he considers protesting; he’s still sore, his thoughts are sluggish with exhaustion, and he doesn’t want to face the world quite yet.

That, unfortunately, doesn’t stop the war, and so he sighs and throws back the covers. “Can I take a shower first?” he asks, handing Harry his glasses, who grimaces in sympathy but shakes his head.

“We need to talk to Griphook and Ollivander. We also need our wands back, and to wake up Ron and Hermione,” he rattles off, and Regulus simply resigns himself to following along. There’s no use in protesting, anyway.

“You know that Sirius is going to kill you?” he asks when they step out of the room into the dark corridor.

Harry snorts. “Wouldn’t be the first to try and fail,” he says and knocks on the door, pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

There’s a groan and then the light is flicked on, revealing Sirius’ disgruntled face. “I have no idea what time it is, but it’s too early. Get out.”

“We need our wands,” Harry says, walking over to the bed while Regulus stays in the doorway. “And to know how you are, Mister I-was-hurt-by-a-dagger-but-joke-about-my-brothers’-clothes.”

Sirius grumbles again and gestures vaguely into the direction of the floor next to his bed. “I’d be better if you let me get my sleep. They’re in my jacket,” he says, but then he stills and his eyes find Regulus. “How are you, though?”

Even after they’ve spent weeks together over the last summer, it still warms him more than it has any right to that Sirius cares. “Better if he’d let me get my sleep,” he echoes with a grin, and Sirius raises an eyebrow at him.

“Found them,” Harry says before Sirius can come up with a teasing remark. “Thanks, Sirius. Brilliant, by the way, that you remembered to take them. I got two wands from Malfoy, but I’d rather use mine.”

He throws Regulus his wand, who catches it instinctively, and immediately feels better with it back on himself.

“Do you know which rooms Ron and Hermione are in?” Harry asks, coming to a halt next to Regulus but looking at Sirius.

“Will it make you leave?”

“Obviously.”

“Thank Merlin. Second landing, third door from the right,” Sirius mutters, already pulling the blanket back over his head.

Harry stops, head tilted and a confused frown flickering over his face. “Together? Wait – nevermind, I’ll ask them myself. Get better, Siri!” he says, then pushes Regulus out of the door and closes it behind them.

“How can you be so… awake?” Regulus mutters as he follows him down the stairs, and Harry throws him a resigned look over his shoulder.

“Believe me, I’d prefer to be asleep as well, but you’ll understand in a moment,” he says, then comes to a halt in front of the door Sirius mentioned and stares at it for a beat. “You don’t want to be the one to go in there, by any chance?” he asks, glancing at him with a hopeful expression.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Maybe if you told me what’s going on –“

“Alright, alright.”

Harry knocks, loudly and several times, and waits until Ron appears in the doorway. “Harry?”

“Get dressed, we have things to do. As long as you want to come, of course?”

“Why did I not get that choice?” Regulus grumbles, but he can’t help the grin tugging at his lips.

The noise must have woken Remus, who appears in another doorway. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“Remus, perfect. I need to talk to Griphook and Ollivander. Which rooms are they in?”

“Harry, it’s 7:30 in the morning and you arrived only a few hours ago. Are you sure – “

“It’s important,” Harry interrupts, impatience slowly getting the better of him, or maybe it’s still some lingering anger from earlier.

Remus sighs but nods. “First floor, the first two rooms. I go and tell them, I think Fleur might be with them, anyway. She’s the best at healing, and Ollivander is rather… Anyway. Give me five minutes.”

Ron and Hermione appear just as Remus walks down the stairs. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“You’ll see. We need to talk to Griphook and Ollivander.”

Both look at Regulus for more of an explanation, but he just shrugs and raises his hands. “I have no idea either.”

They nod and follow Harry down the stairs where Remus just comes out of the room. “Griphook’s not happy, but you can go in.”

“Thanks, Remus,” Hermione says, and the man smiles briefly. His eyes meet Regulus’ for a moment, his expression unreadable, but he follows the other three into the room without a word.

It’s one of the smaller guestrooms, and Griphook is sitting on the bed in the corner, eyeing them warily. Regulus hangs back with Ron and Hermione, simply watching Harry.

He exchanges a few platitudes with the Goblin, who remarks on how weird it is that Harry rescued him at all, and he’s still holding on to the sword of Gryffindor.

“We need your help,” Harry says, his shoulders drawing back slightly and his eyes fixed on Griphook. “To break into Gringotts.”

Regulus chokes. Hermione and Ron both look stunned, and Griphook is already telling Harry that it’s impossible.

“That’s why we need your help. I don’t care for personal gain, but I need something out of the Lestrange vault to defeat You-Know-Who,” Harry says, gesturing impatiently.

Griphook sneers and shakes his head. “Wizards have always thought themselves better, and now they have even more power over us. But if I do believe anyone to not aim for personal gain, it is you, Harry Potter.”

“Yes, well,” Harry huffs, his fingers drumming against the side of his leg. “It’s not particularly nice for any of us with _him_ in power, either. They want Hermione dead and gone as much as your kind, I don’t think I need to explain myself, and Ron and Regulus are searched because they’re known as blood-traitors.”

“Exactly,” Hermione pipes up. “And it was Harry who freed an elf a few years ago. We’ve been looking into ways to help them for years.”

Regulus remembers some mentions of that but keeps his face blank as to not give away that it might be a bit of a stretch if he remembers Ron’s and, occasionally Harry’s, exasperation with Hermione’s crusade.

Griphook looks curious but doesn’t acknowledge it further. “Regulus Black,” he says instead, his eyes landing on him for the first time. “The records on you were a bit of a mess for the last nineteen years. I assume they have sorted themselves out?”

He tilts his head, then nods slowly. “I’d believe so. I didn’t go to the bank yet, considering…” he trails off and gestures vaguely, but Griphook seems to understand.

“Time-travel or Necromancy?” he asks, a nasty smirk at the second option twisting his lips.

“Time-travel. I’m not fond of Necromancy, and even the time-travel was rather on accident,” he answers, suppressing a shudder at the memory of rotting, moving bodies, and the smell of something that should be dead.

Harry clears his throat. “So, will you help us? We have no chance without your help.”

Griphook stares at him, one hand running through his grey beard. “I’ll think about it.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but both he and Hermione elbow him into the side and then grin at each other sheepishly.

Regulus is a bit surprised to find how much he missed the two of them.

“Thank you, Griphook,” Harry says, his smile only slightly strained. “We’ll let you rest, then.”

They step back into the corridor and Harry casts a Muffliato around them.

“You think there’s a Horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault?” Regulus asks, already mulling it over. “It would make sense, she was utterly terrified by the idea that we were in there.”

“Exactly,” Harry nods, absently rubbing at his scar while his face twists slightly. “And I doubt You-Know-Who cares much about the sword, so it must be about something else important to him.”

“But didn’t you say that he usually hides them in places that have personal importance to him?” Hermione asks, and there’s a certain hopefulness to her tone as if she’s desperately searching for a reason to not break into Gringotts.

Regulus can relate, but the more he thinks about it, the more he can see Harry’s point. For Bellatrix to be afraid of calling the Dark Lord, it must be severe.

“While that’s true and I don’t think that he ever had a vault there himself, at least not while still at school, I think he would see it as a connection to the wizarding world. To have a vault at Gringotts means you belong there,” Harry says, though he sounds just as unhappy about it. “And he trusts her and Rodolphus Lestrange. I doubt she knows that it’s a Horcrux, as little as Lucius Malfoy did, only that it’s something important. Gringotts is one of the best places to keep something safe, after all.”

They’re silent for a while, probably all thinking how mad of an idea this is, but Regulus doesn't miss the continued signs of Harry being in pain. It reminds him of the worries that started creeping in a few hours ago, questions about the origin of this weird connection, and he quickly shoves them away again.

“You wanted to talk to Ollivander as well?” he asks, not only to distract himself from his thoughts, but also because he wants to reach out and pull Harry close, and he’s not sure if that’s something they _do_ now. He’s a bit lost, he realises, uncertain how he’s supposed to act, and it’s just another thing he doesn’t want to confront yet.

“Yeah, come on,” Harry sighs, cancelling the spell and knocking on the second door Remus indicated earlier.

Ollivander is sitting in the bed, propped up by several pillows. If he didn’t turn his head upon their entrance, Regulus might have thought that he’s dead. His greyish skin is stretched taut over his bones and his eyes are sunken in, and Regulus remembers that according to Harry, he has been abducted nearly a year ago.

“Mr Ollivander, do you mind if we talk to you for a moment?” Harry asks, pulling a chair over to sit next to the bed while Regulus, Ron, and Hermione stay back again.

“Not at all, I have to thank you for rescuing me,” Ollivander rasps, but his gaze slips past Harry and settles on Regulus. “Regulus Black, Cedar and Dragon-heartstring. 11,5 inches and supple – I see, you’ve grown into the properties of your wand.”

He smiles faintly and dips his head in response but otherwise stays silent; it’s obvious that Harry is impatient and tense, and he doubts that he wants to hear about the meaning behind Regulus’ wand right now.

“Can you identify these for me?” Harry says, pulling two wands out of the Moleskin bag around his neck to hand them to Ollivander, who inspects them closely.

The first one turns out to be Bellatrix’s, and Regulus feels a vindictive satisfaction at the knowledge that she has to deal without it now. He knows that it’s most likely only a minor drawback, but he has no problem to admit that he’s petty.

“And this one is Hawthorn and Unicorn hair. I sold it to Draco Malfoy a few years ago, and if I’m not mistaken, it might have changed its allegiance,” Ollivander says, watching Harry curiously.

“So, a wand can change allegiance without the previous owner being murdered?” Harry asks, storing the two wands back in the small bag.

Ollivander pales but nods. “Correct, it’s mostly a question of how it’s won.”

Harry doesn’t stop there though, and Regulus quickly catches on that he’s asking after the Elder wand. Or well, _asking_ might be the wrong word, he mostly forces Ollivander to confirm what Harry has already put together from his visions.

That he told You-Know-Who about the twin-connection between their wands, and later about the Elder wand and that Gregorovitch had it. Though Ollivander adds that You-Know-Who isn’t searching for it only because of the connection between his and Harry’s wand, but because he thinks that he’ll be truly invincible with it.

Hermione asks if he believes it exists, then, and Ollivander confirms what Regulus feared – it’s traceable through history and a proven fact amongst wand-makers, the only thing uncertain is if it has to be won over by murder.

Regulus is conflicted between pity for the obvious terror Ollivander feels at Harry’s knowledge of all this, and slight revulsion at the way he talks about You-Know-Who in possession of the Elder Wand as ‘formidable.’

Harry stays surprisingly calm and tells Ollivander more than once that he doesn’t blame him for giving up information under the continued torture he had to endure. It doesn’t seem to placate the man, who is still rasping apologies when they leave the room shortly after.

Regulus thinks it must be rather terrifying that Harry knows all this, but the thought vanishes when they step into the corridor and Harry stumbles against him, a hand pressed to his scar.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him upright. There are still a thousand uncertainties, but right now he couldn’t care less.

Harry grimaces but pulls himself upright. He wraps an arm around Regulus though, obviously unconcerned by their closeness in front of his friends.

“Years ago, Gregorovitch had the wand,” Harry says. “But Grindelwald stole it from him, and used it to conquer most of Europe, until his final duel against Dumbledore, where he won the wand.”

“Dumbledore had the Elder wand?” Ron interrupts, his eyes wide, and Regulus definitely understands the sentiment; it’s news to him too, but it makes sense.

“Then let’s go! We need to get to Hogwarts,” Ron goes on when Harry nods, sudden excitement in his eyes.

Harry shakes his head though. “Too late. You-Know-Who has just arrived.”

“What? Why didn’t you say that earlier? Why did we talk to Griphook first instead of trying to beat him to it?” Ron exclaims, his tone furious, but Harry is swaying at Regulus’ side, his eyes clenched close and a hand pressed against his head.

On the one hand, Regulus is wondering the same thing, on the other, he thinks he understands. He has been wary of the idea of the Elder wand from the beginning, and neither him nor Harry have ever been sure what they’re supposed to do with the knowledge of the Hallows.

“Dumbledore… He didn’t mean for me to have it,” Harry mutters, his voice strained with pain. “I’m – we need to – the Horcruxes.”

He would’ve sunken to his knees if Regulus wasn’t holding him up.

“But – “

“Leave it, Ron,” Hermione snaps. “He’s right, and I also doubt that he can hear you, much less explain himself right now. Come on, let’s get into the sitting room until he’s better.”

* * *

While Grimmauld Place is much more comfortable than a tent and has the advantage of being safe, Regulus struggles with the sheer number of people that come and go; it doesn’t help that most of them eye him with mistrust at best, and animosity at worst.

He refuses to hide out in his room though, even if he feels more drained at the end of each day than he has in weeks. It’s not only the Order members; he still feels like he’s walking on ice around Harry, scared to expect too much, to do something that’d annoy him, or to give away just how important their relationship is to him.

That Harry’s ex-girlfriend is living in the same house doesn’t help, and neither does his constantly growing worry about Harry’s connection to Voldemort.

Rationally, he knows that they should talk about it, but Harry is agonising about his decision to focus on the Horcruxes instead of the Hallows, not helped by Ron and Hermione telling him that it was stupid and right respectively, Sirius is still shaky at best, and the continuous questions by some of the Order members don’t help, either.

So, Regulus swallows his concerns, tries to be there when Harry comes to him on his own, and to not let the tension in the house get to him.

It never occurs to him that Harry might have similar doubts until they’re down in the kitchen one late evening. Ron and Hermione just went upstairs, hands linked together, and it’s only the two of them left.

Regulus is standing at the stove to make tea and jumps when Harry suddenly appears next to him, a crease between his brows and looking at him with a hesitation that seems out of place on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, turning to look at him while his mind is already providing him with several reasons for the obvious tension in Harry’s posture.

Harry swallows and runs a hand through his hair, averting his eyes to stare at his feet. “Are you – do you, I mean… Is being with me something you really want? Just – I know we sleep in the same bed and… And kiss sometimes and stuff but – you’re distant when we’re not alone and I just… If it’s not something you want, you know I won’t be angry, right? You don’t…” he trails off, his arms wrapped tightly around himself now and staring stubbornly past Regulus.

There’s this blasted lump in his throat again and his heart is racing, but he draws a deep breath and pushes past all the doubts and insecurities because the last thing he wants is for Harry to feel like this.

“We’re both idiots,” he mutters, huffing at his lasting inability to speak his mind, and smiles wryly when Harry stares at him with growing confusion. “To answer your question, yes, I really want to. I guess we just – both worry about the same things? I didn’t want to overwhelm or pressure you, and you have so many things to take care of and I – frankly, I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t have a particularly good track record with relationships and – everyone in this house but you, and maybe Ron, Hermione, and Sirius would rather have me gone and – I don’t even blame them because – “

“Shut up,” Harry says softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer to Regulus, his hands coming up to rest on his jaw, and he has to stretch on his toes to press a kiss to his lips. “Yeah, we’re obviously both idiots,” he murmurs against his lips. “But caring about you is not a burden, okay?”

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Harry’s while wrapping his arms around his waist. There are many things he wants to say, but they all get stuck in his throat, and so he just kisses him again.

“And I’ll fight anyone who makes you uncomfortable,” Harry mutters, annoyance seeping into his voice, making him laugh.

“I don’t think to snap at the Order in random intervals will make it better.”

Harry huffs, his breath tingling on his lips. “Alright, I’m going to have a civil talk with them, how about that?”

Before he can answer, the door creaks. Regulus first instinct is to jump back, but Harry doesn’t let go of him and shoots him a pointed grin, and only then turns to look who’s interrupting them.

Sirius leans in the doorway, his arms crossed loosely over his chest and watching them with an expression that’s half amusement, half confusion; like he’s not sure what to think about this.

“I’d be lying if I said that I’m surprised, but –“ he breaks off and gestures helplessly before crossing the distance to the table to flop into one of the chairs.

“It’s a bit of a conflict for you now, isn’t it?” Regulus grins, turning to face him fully but leaving one arm wrapped around Harry. “Are you going to tell me to not mess with your godson, or warn him to not mess with your little brother?”

Sirius snorts, his expression relaxing, and raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so _now_ you’re the little brother who needs protection, are you?”

“You can help us both by talking to the Order with me tomorrow?” Harry pipes up, a sly grin on his face, and Regulus laughs at the grimace Sirius pulls.

“You’re a bad influence on him,” Sirius sighs theatrically in Regulus’ direction, but then sobers and frowns. “Sure, but why?”

“They’re still set on Regulus being – I don’t even know. A spy or something,” Harry says with a scowl, his grip on him tightening, and it shouldn’t be this endearing to have someone so angry on his behalf, but he can’t help the warmth spreading through him.

Still. “To be fair, the only time he acknowledged it, he told them all to stop treating him like a child and to trust him, and then stormed out. And they don’t know anything about me, so – “

Sirius chooses to ignore him. “Who?” he asks Harry, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Regulus resigns himself to not having a say in this.

“Mostly Molly, Remus, and Kingsley,” Harry answers. “They’re convinced he manipulated us all or something. Mind, they don’t outright say anything but it’s all rather tense and uncomfortable.”

Sirius huffs and flicks his wand to finish the tea Regulus abandoned. “Of course, remember how Molly constantly got on my nerves before I was pardoned? We’ll talk to them.”

“Can I say again how it’s a legitimate concern?” Regulus says, then holds his hand up quickly when they both turn their glares at him. “I just mean that neither of you would have trusted me without the letters either, and I think you’ll get further if you at least explain that you have good reasons to believe me.”

“I’ve always hated how reasonable you are,” Sirius mutters under his breath, but then he sighs and nods. “You do have a point though. We’ll be… nice.”

Harry still looks vaguely annoyed, but when Regulus nudges him, he rolls his eyes and smiles. “Fine. We’ll be nice. But if they still bother you afterwards, I’m telling Kreacher that he can stop cleaning their rooms.”

Regulus can’t bring himself to hide his smile at that, and they spend another hour with tea and talking before they finally fall into bed. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his chest, and when Harry curls into his side, his breathing even, he feels calmer than he has in the longest time.

* * *

When the two of them walk into the kitchen the next morning, the whole room falls silent and avoids meeting their eyes.

Not everyone who was there the first night is living at Grimmauld Place; apparently, there are a few more houses under the Fidelius, and the Weasley’s are walking a thin line of keeping up appearances with Ginny and Ron still at school. But Remus and his wife are living here, as is Kingsley after he revealed himself to be an Oder-member by speaking the Dark Lord’s name, and of course, those they’ve rescued from Malfoy Manor are also staying.

Both Ollivander and Griphook are still too weak – or too opposed to spending time with humans – to leave their rooms, but Luna and Dean are sitting at the table, and it’s the former who smiles at them serenely.

“There’s an article in the Prophet about you, Regulus. It’s not very nice though,” she says and nods towards a copy that’s lying on the table.

“Oh joy,” Harry mutters, sitting down in one of the free chairs and pulling the newspaper close.

Regulus sits down next to him, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity pooling in his stomach, and he only looks up briefly when Sirius enters the kitchen before focusing back on the article that’s taking up the whole front page.

**_Wanted: Regulus Black_ **

** Reward: 50.000 Galleons **

_It has recently come to the Ministry’s attention that Regulus Arcturus Black, who was declared dead in 1979, is still alive. The circumstances of this aren’t as clear as a simple confusion though._

_Witnesses report that the younger brother of Sirius Black doesn’t appear much older than 20 years. It is therefore believed that strictly regulated magic has been used. Furthermore, he has been sighted in the company of both Sirius Black and Harry Potter, and took part in a plot to prevent the capture of these two searched criminals._

_The administration has concluded that not only is he an accomplice to the crimes committed by the infamous duo, but that Harry Potter and Sirius Black are possibly resorting to even more illegal methods._

_Regulus Black is accused of aiding the Order of the Phoenix, partaking in prohibited forms of magic, collaborating with enemies to the administration, and compromising the Ministry._

_Any and all hints aiding in his capture or information on his whereabouts will be rewarded._

_Magic is Might_

“Oh look, you’re worth the same money as I am!” Sirius exclaims, grinning down at him from where he has been reading over his shoulder. “And, how does it feel, being an enemy of the state in a full official capacity?”

Regulus snorts, and then he starts laughing because he can’t help it; of all the things he never would have expected to happen to him, this comes directly after ‘being in a relationship with the number one enemy of the Dark Lord,’ and well, maybe being alive at 20 in 1998.

“Spectacular,” he says dryly, and exchanges a grin with Harry before accepting a cup of coffee from Kreacher. “Though I’ll have to admit that I’m tempted to remove the Sticking Charm on the curtains of mothers’ portrait just to see her face when she hears this.”

“Oh please don’t!” Ron speaks up from the door, stepping into the kitchen with Hermione in tow. “Whatever the reason, it’s not worth it.”

He waves him off and shakes his head. “Believe me, I have too much self-preservation to endure her temper-tantrum.”

Hermione’s eyes quickly settle on the newspaper and she snatches it from the table, skimming the article. “They must have checked your records at Gringotts to determine the time-travel,” she says, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Doesn’t look older than 20, what kind of research is that?”

“Not to mention that Narcissa Malfoy remarked herself how there are potions and spells,” Harry adds. “Didn’t you call her vainer than Sirius?”

“What?” Sirius exclaims, a hand on his chest. “You insulted dear Cissy on my behalf? Oh Reg, we’ll make an actual Gryffindor out of you.”

“Actually,” Harry starts, mirth dancing in his eyes, and Regulus knows exactly what he’s getting at.

He glares, fiercely. “I’d advise you to think long and hard about what you want to say next.”

Harry sighs and pouts for a moment before he smiles. “Alright then, as you wish,” he says, then turns to the table at large where most are still watching them with varying degrees of bewilderment. “I suppose this is not enough to convince you that you’re all being – “

“Harry,” Regulus hisses because he just knows that there’s an insult at the end of this sentence.

“Seriously, you’re no fun today,” Harry sighs again, but then he seems to turn sober. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you again. I’m not going to apologise for what I said when we arrived here after we were captured, but I was… made aware that your mistrust is not completely unreasonable.”

If the topic was less serious, the sudden nervous shifting of several people would be amusing.

“The thing is, it’s like this,” Harry says, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the table. “Dumbledore left me a mission, as you know. Back in 1979, Regulus found out about the things Dumbledore discovered only two years ago, and he betrayed You-Know-Who to… accomplish the same thing, basically.”

He glances at Regulus for a moment who presses their knees together and smiles faintly. “He would have died if some of the magic didn’t go wrong. When we tried to find out more, we stumbled across some of his notes, and – without any of us intending to – pulled him here. As he already knew about everything we’re trying to do, and we knew that he betrayed You-Know-Who, we decided to stay together. He has since saved my life on more than one occasion, and I trust him.”

“I wrote letters,” he says, the words difficult to force out, but he knows that Harry won’t mention this. “They were never sent, but Harry found them, and Sirius read them as well. It’s how they knew.”

“Okay, so – You didn’t tell him about the mission Dumbledore gave you,” Remus says, watching Harry closely. “I assume we can’t read them?” he adds, directing the question at Regulus.

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have shown them to Sirius if it wasn’t his brother. It’s the only reason he knows.”

“And they do a great job at keeping me out of it,” Sirius mutters, some annoyance in his tone. “But – Remus, you know better than most that some family-nostalgia wouldn’t have been enough for me to trust him.”

Remus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I guess that’s true. But – how did you know he couldn’t be tracked?”

“I cut the connection to my mark before I betrayed You-Know-Who,” Regulus says, his fingers curling around his left wrist. “It’s still dormant.”

“And he saved your life?” Tonks speaks up for the first time, one hand resting on her stomach while she looks between all of them. “You know all this for certain, and he proved himself?”

“More than once,” Ron answers, his expression serious. “You know that we stayed with them until the end of November. You don’t think we would have left Harry if we weren’t certain, do you?”

“Or that I wouldn’t have hexed him if he insulted me?” Hermione adds, her eyes daring anyone to contradict her.

It’s weird, to be defended like this. To have not only Sirius, which is already a miracle in itself stand up for him, but these three people he has come to value more than maybe anyone else before, standing up to a room full of their allies to convince them.

He knows that it’s a result of the things he has done, that it’s not out of the blue, but it still feels strange to have people who trust him, who like him enough to take this risk. Not that he ever intends to betray their trust, but it’s baffling that _they_ believe this as well.

“Alright, I… I think I can accept that,” Remus says slowly. “I’m not saying that we can simply trust you from one day to the other, especially because you can’t tell us the specifics, but – I, at least, can try.”

“Thank you,” Harry says before Regulus can, and he sounds so very relieved that he feels bad for not realising sooner how important this is to Harry.

“I agree with Remus,” Kingsley says, the first time he talks. “And, for better or for worse, it’s not like you can go back now,” he adds with a grin and a nod to the paper that’s still lying on the table, a picture of Regulus from 1978 moving on the front page.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t want to if I could,” he mutters, more to himself, but he knows that it’s audible in the quiet room.

“Well, and he has very few Wrackspurts,” Luna says, smiling at him and then takes a sip from her tea. “And Kreacher likes him.”

It loosens the tension in the room, and the topic seems to be over and done with. All things considered, it probably went as well as could be expected, and he smiles when Harry links their hands together.

They move into the sitting room after breakfast. Griphook still hasn’t told them his decision, and they don’t have much to do in the meantime. Ron already announced that he won’t go back to Hogwarts as his research there has led nowhere. Both him and Hermione refuse to let them go to Gringotts alone after what happened in Godric’s Hollow and Malfoy Manor, and with Harry’s decision to not pursue the Hallows further, Bellatrix’s vault is the only lead they have.

“Hey Harry?” a voice from the doorway pulls Regulus out of his current game of chess against Ron, and he has to swallow the irrational bout of possessiveness at the sight of Ginny. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Harry glances at him for a beat before looking back at her. “Sure, should we go to the library?”

The two of them disappear, and Regulus loses a few moves later.

“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Ron says, pushing the board away and stretching out his legs. “To me, at least, what with Harry and Ginny and now you.”

“Ron!” Hermione hisses, looking up from her book, and Regulus doesn’t want to have this conversation. At all.

“I’m just saying – look, I’m happy for you two and I think Harry is, too. He’s surprisingly… calm, considering the circumstances. And I think Ginny isn’t too upset either. I don’t mean to confront you or anything. Just – don’t worry so much about it. They were friends before, and they’ll probably be friends again, and if there’s a person who’s committed and faithful when he starts something, it’s Harry,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Then he seems to realise what he just said and quickly looks at Hermione. “And me, of course. I’m also committed. And faithful – “

“Shut up, Ronald,” Hermione huffs, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips that she can’t hide completely behind her book.

“Thank you,” Regulus says quietly, taking a moment to think about it. It’s not like he believes that Harry would do anything to hurt him, just – between him and a girl who’s from the family that is basically Harry’s own, a girl that’s never done any of the things he has done, he still doesn’t understand how Harry can want _him_.

He’s so lost in thought that he nearly misses their return, and jumps slightly when Harry plops down next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You lost? Pity, though I know how that feels,” he says after studying the board for a moment.

Regulus leans against him and hums, unwilling to reveal the reason for his pitiful defeat. “It’s because you have absolutely no talent for strategical thinking.”

“Mate, I’ve been telling him that for years. It’s hopeless,” Ron grins, flicking his wand to set the pieces back in place.

“So, I’ve heard you play Quidditch?” Ginny speaks up from where she’s stretched out on one of the couches.

The surprise of her addressing him has him speechless for the fraction of a second, but then he smiles. “Yeah, I played Seeker. Has been a while, though.”

“Are you any good?”

“Well,” he grins, glancing at Harry. “While I was on the team, we were the only ones with an actual chance against Gryffindor at the time.”

* * *

Grimmauld Place becomes more comfortable after that. Ginny is a great source for everything concerning Quidditch over the last years, something that, between all the other things important, has somehow fallen short between him and Harry, and she turns out to be a brilliant conversational partner to distract himself from the severity of the war.

He can honestly claim that he’s sad when she returns to Hogwarts at the end of the Easter holidays, and he just hopes that she’ll be fine. The things she and Ron told them about how the school is run makes him nauseous, but he also understands why she’s going back despite the added problems that might arise from Ron staying away.

It’s only a few days after she left that Griphook lets them know that he wants to talk to them.

“Even though it will be considered treason by my race, I’ve decided to help you,” he says, mainly addressing Harry.

“That’s great! Thank you – “

Regulus suspects what’s coming before Griphook speaks. “I want something in return. The sword of Gryffindor.”

Even from his position, Regulus can see the tension shooting into Harry’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

“I won’t do it, otherwise,” Griphook states bluntly, and Regulus knows that it’s the only way he will agree to this.

It makes sense; the sword is Goblin made, and he’s aware of how the Goblins view the wizard custom of handing down possessions as theft.

“You could choose something from the Lestrange vault?” Ron offers, oblivious to the darkening of Griphook’s expression. “I’m sure there’s something in there – “

“I don’t care for any of that. The sword belongs to the Goblins – “

“It belongs to us! We’re Gryffindors – “ Ron argues, and Regulus mourns that there’s too much distance between them to elbow him into shutting up.

“The sword belonged to Ragnuk the first, and it was stolen from him by Godric Gryffindor,” Griphook snarls, his eyes flashing as he leans forwards to glare at Ron.

Before Ron can get into a heated debate as he seems to be ready to, Harry pointedly clears his throat. “We need to talk about this. Can we get back to you in a few minutes?”

Griphook is still glaring but nods, and they leave the room to retreat into the library.

“Any ideas?” Harry sighs, stepping close to Regulus to lean against him while running a hand through his hair. “We need the sword, obviously, but I’m quite certain that it’s the only thing he’s going to agree to.”

“Well,” Ron starts, glancing at Hermione. “There’s the fake in the Lestrange vault, isn’t it?”

Regulus smiles fondly but rolls his eyes. “It’s more likely that he will spot the difference than any of us.”

“Not to mention that it’s despicable,” Hermione huffs, glaring at the two of them. “It’s no wonder Goblin’s dislike wizards so much, and this right here – “

“I know, Hermione,” he interrupts before she can work herself into a rant. “But if I’m honest, the defeat of You-Know-Who bothers me more than honesty towards anyone, Goblin or not.”

Harry snorts and swats his shoulder, but he turns serious quickly, a deep crease between his brows. “Is it true? That Gryffindor stole the sword?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighs, not without a brief glare at Regulus. “It’s possible. History is always written by the victors, isn’t it?”

“I bet it’s one of those Goblin stories to paint wizards in a bad light,” Ron mutters, quickly raising his hands in defeat at Hermione’s furious expression.

Regulus doesn’t think he can take the two of them bantering right now. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Whoever is right, you’re not going to convince him with arguments in either direction.”

“Well, any other ideas?” Ron says, and they all fall silent.

There’s one idea he has, but he doubts that voicing it would go over well.

“He can have the sword,” Harry suddenly says. “After we broke into the vault.”

“Harry – “ Hermione and Ron say simultaneously, but Regulus is staring at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is going into the direction he was just considering.

“We’re just not telling him when, exactly,” Harry says with a grimace, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

It’s utterly inappropriate but Regulus wants to laugh. It is _exactly_ the same thing he has been thinking of, and it’s such a Slytherin thing to do. Weirdly enough, it’s far from the first time that he has this thought about Harry.

“I don’t like it, but Regulus is right; defeating You-Know-Who is more important, and we need the sword for it. I’ll make sure that he gets it when all the Horcruxes are gone, and we don’t break our word, strictly speaking. We just… delay holding up our end of the bargain.”

Hermione purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest, but she doesn’t protest. Regulus is just careful to hide his amusement; it’s not that he doesn’t get why this is bordering on deception, but out of all their options, it’s the best he can think of.

They walk back to Griphook’s room with tension hanging heavily between them, and Regulus positions himself in front of Hermione to keep her from giving them away on accident.

Harry is careful in wording his agreement, and he and Griphook shake hands on it.

From there on, the planning starts. They spend hours upon hours every day in Griphook’s room, going over meticulously drawn plans of Gringotts and talking through possibilities. Their stack of Polyjuice is nearly empty, barely enough for one of them, but together with the cloak and some Transfiguration, it should work.

Nobody in the house misses that they’re planning something, but they decide to not tell anyone about their plan, not even Sirius who spends days sulking about being excluded.

They all know that he’d insist to come along though, and it boils down to the same argument Harry had when they planned to infiltrate the Ministry.

Regulus is not surprised that he takes the brunt of it, Sirius snapping at him on a nearly daily basis, and he does his best to keep those moments from Harry. It’s not that he thinks Harry would doubt his decision, but he doesn’t want him to feel like he has to pick sides, and he knows that Sirius mainly needs a target for his frustration.

That doesn’t mean that he lets Sirius load off his frustration on him, and it eventually ends in a shouting match between the two of them in the kitchen. Sirius is just accusing him of manipulating Harry – to do what exactly, he has no idea – when the door bangs open and makes them both stop short.

“I know you both think you were subtle over the last few weeks, but you’re really not, so I’m only going to say this once. Sirius, we couldn’t take you if we wanted to and if you use your bloody brain and remember what we talked about before Ron, Hermione, Reg and I left Grimmauld Place, you’d stop being such an arse,” Harry snaps before either of them can say something.

Sirius is still glaring though. “Well, that was before you were captured and nearly killed!”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, and that was my own fucking fault, and exactly the reason why we didn’t go together. So that, in case something happened to us, there’d be someone left to finish the job. Not to mention that it has nothing to do with you being an utter prick to your brother instead of taking it up with me.”

It’s – a fucking brilliant reason; not only because it makes sense, but also because it leaves little room for Sirius to argue, and Regulus is sure that the latter is something that Harry considered. As close as the two are, Harry knows that Sirius would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat, and he’s not sure who’d deal worse with Sirius’ death, Harry or himself.

Sirius is silent right now, still staring at Harry whose expression is determined; if anybody asked, Regulus would be unable to guess who is more stubborn between the two of them.

In the end, it’s Harry. Sirius slumps against the wall in his back and runs a hand over his face, before meeting Regulus’ eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said, and that I took it out on you. I’m just – really fucking worried about all of you, and I’d feel much better if you at least told me what you’re planning.”

Regulus disagrees, but it would be a bad idea to tell Sirius that.

Harry’s expression softens, but he shakes his head. “Sorry, but – “

The door bangs again, and Regulus spares a thought for how much outrage this alone would cause his mother. It makes him happier than it should, but he dismisses it when Remus comes to a halt in the middle of the kitchen, his hair wild and face flushed with apparent excitement.

“Our child arrived! I’m a father!” he exclaims, staring between all of them, and Sirius lets out a whoop of joy.

Remus and Tonks moved to Bill and Fleur’s place two weeks ago to have a calmer surrounding for the end of the pregnancy and the birth. Really, he’s not superstitious but considering the history of the Black family, it would probably be a bad omen to give birth at Grimmauld Place.

He shakes his head to dispel the thought and smiles when Remus turns to Harry, one hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be godfather, right?”

Harry pales with obvious shock. “Really? You want me to – but I was – “

“Of course! You’ll do it?” Remus interrupts, still grinning so brightly that it transforms his whole face, and Harry only manages a nod before he’s pulled into a tight hug.

Even when the other inhabitants of the house appear and wine is handed around, Harry still looks like he’s not sure what to make of this. He’s leaning against Regulus, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and seems to be lost in his thoughts.

“You know, I don’t think that Remus holds any of the things you’ve said to him against you. Neither the fight after Malfoy Manor, nor before we left Grimmauld’s,” he murmurs into the side of Harry’s head, who hums and leans into the touch, but otherwise stays silent.

Remus stays longer than intended, but eventually, they all go to bed. They are set to go to Gringotts tomorrow, and even though Regulus doubts that he’ll be able to catch much sleep, he knows that they need the rest.

“You’re godfather,” he says quietly when Harry curls into his side, his fingers tracing the scars on Regulus’ forearm.

Harry hums again, then pulls back slightly to look at him with a crease between his brows. “You’re going to help me, right? I mean – I’m like the worst possible candidate for this, I don’t know what Remus and Tonks are thinking. Fuck, I’m going to break into bloody Gringotts tomorrow! That’s like – a hundred times worse on the recklessness-scale than Sirius ever was!”

There’s an unmistakable note of panic in his voice, and Regulus should’ve known that it’s about more than his recent arguments with Remus. “Of course I will,” he says, smiling softly. “Although, I’d like to point out that I’m going to break into Gringotts as well.”

His attempt at humour doesn’t seem to alleviate Harry’s worries. “Yes, but you’re like – the responsible one between the two of us, like – you’re basically my impulse control because I don’t have any to speak of.”

Regulus snorts and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve managed just fine without me. But I promise, I’ll be the responsible part of the godfather-deal and we can keep pretending that there’s no Slytherin in you at all.”

Finally, Harry relaxes and instantly pokes him. “Did you know that the hat wanted to sort me into Slytherin?”

Regulus raises a brow and smirks. “If you expect me to be surprised, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Harry huffs and rolls his eyes. “Says the one who pulled Gryffindors sword out of the lake.”

“Actually,” he drawls, still smirking, “The hat wanted to put me into Ravenclaw.”

“If you expect me to be surprised – “ Harry starts, but Regulus kisses him before he can mock his earlier statement.

Harry tangles a hand into his hair and rolls on top of him, and every thought of Hogwarts houses and plans to break into Gringotts fly out of Regulus’ mind, everything narrowing down to the warm, soft lips against his, to the fingertips running through his hair and over his jaw, and the warm skin under his own hands.

“Hey Reg?” Harry whispers when they break apart, looking down at him with warm eyes and a soft smile.

“Yeah?”

Harry swallows and draws a deep breath. “I love you.”

It knocks all the breath out of him and there are tears burning in his eyes before he can stop them. “I – “ he starts, but chokes on the words, on the way Harry is still watching him with so much trust, and maybe a little concern at his reaction. His chest feels like it’s going to burst, his heart is racing, and the only thing he manages is to tighten his hold on Harry and close his eyes in an attempt to pull himself together.

Harry touches his cheek softly. “Hey, I didn’t say it to hear it back. It’s completely fine if you’re not ready,” he says, and it only makes the sensation of being completely drowned in emotions worse.

“I – no, that’s not – Fuck, I do. Harry, I love you so bloody much but – How can _you_ possibly love me? I don’t even understand how you _like_ me, how – “ he chokes again, unable to hold the tears back any longer. “How can you love me despite who I am?”

“Regulus,” Harry says lowly, his fingers on his cheek stilling and pressing against his jaw. "I don't love you _despite_ it. I love you intentionally because you're worth it. Because even all those little things you can't stand about yourself are extraordinary to me - I love you because you deserve it, every little part of you. Because as you once said, you wouldn't be you, otherwise, and even though I don't love what you had to do, or that you had to go through all that, it belongs to you, and I love that. _You_. All of you. I love you, knowing all this. Because you work so bloody hard to be a better person every day, and you understand me, and just - just let me love you, alright?”

He knows that there’s no way he can put even a fraction of the things he wants to say into words, so he pulls Harry into a kiss, a desperate attempt to pour everything he wants him to know into it.

“I – “ he tries anyway, but Harry kisses him again, over and over, every time he attempts to speak until he has to laugh with tears still running down his face.

“I know,” Harry murmurs into the space between their lips. “I know, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmurs into Harry’s hair, much later when he has finally calmed down, only a bright, warm sense of happiness brimming underneath his skin.

“You’re you. It’s enough,” Harry murmurs, the words slurred with sleep, and somehow, he can’t help but believe him.


	9. How Well You Used To Know How To Shine

> _14/07/1978_
> 
> _“[…] It’s only been six weeks since I finished school, and everything seems to be falling apart around me; I’m unable to do what the Dark Lord expects of me, mother is deteriorating, spending all of her time in her room and confusing me for you, of all people, and Barty barely talks to me anymore. He doesn’t have any problems, and his fanatism is getting worse with each passing day. Sometimes, I feel like the only reason I’m still trying at all is because of Kreacher. There’s just little else worth fighting for, when it comes down to it – and isn’t that pathetic? […]”_

* * *

It’s still dark outside when their alarm goes off, but the prospect of breaking into Gringotts works well enough to wake Regulus up.

Despite the nervousness brimming underneath his skin, he has a hard time to keep the sappy grin off his face after last night, and he grabs Harry’s wrist before he can leave the room to pull him close.

“I just – I love you too,” he whispers into his hair, his voice rough and breaking over the words. But he has to say this before they leave, and if it’s like this, murmured with his face hidden, then so be it.

Harry’s arms tighten around his waist and he stretches on his toes to kiss him. “I’d love to do this for the whole day, but we should go,” Harry says with a sigh, and Regulus presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away.

They meet Ron and Hermione in the kitchen where Kreacher has some sandwiches and coffee prepared. None of them talks much, anticipation heavy on their shoulders, and they murmur a quick goodbye to Kreacher before stepping out into the dark, overgrown backyard.

“Are you sure that you want to be the one to take the Polyjuice?” Hermione asks him, not for the first time, and he rolls his eyes in response.

“No offence, but I think I have a higher chance of playing a convincing Bellatrix. Arrogance is basically a family trait, and I just have to turn up the madness a bit.”

“But you’re neither,” she argues, her frown barely visible in the darkness.

He smiles and shrugs. “Never served me particularly well. Seriously though, we had this discussion already.”

“Let him do it, Mione,” Harry says. “He knows her much better than any of us.”

“I know, I know. I just – thought that after everything that happened…”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, trying to put as much of his gratitude into the two words as possible.

She nods and then gets the vial of Polyjuice out of her bag, as well as the small one where they’ve kept the hair from Bellatrix that Hermione saved from his jumper after they arrived from Malfoy Manor.

It tastes disgusting, but he grits his teeth and when it’s over, takes the offered robes from Hermione and finds a place out of sight to change while Hermione starts on the Transfiguration on Ron.

Regulus does the same for her afterwards. When Ron and Hermione are completely unrecognizable, Griphook finally joins them, climbing onto Harry’s back before the two of them vanish underneath the Invisibility Cloak.

Drawing a deep breath, Regulus straightens. “Everyone ready?”

There’s muttered agreement, and they step out of the wards on the end of the backyard to apparate.

They arrive on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron and quickly enter the pub. It’s nearly empty, and the few people that are here slink into the shadows as soon as they spot him.

He doesn’t bother to answer the greeting of the barman and merely sneers, striding towards the door at the other side.

Diagon Alley is just as deserted, and he has to swallow at the picture the once so colourful, lively street presents. Most of the stores are boarded up, although some seem to be dedicated to the Dark Arts now, and there are people in dirty, torn robes lingering in the entrances, pulling up their hoods when they spot him.

As depressing as it is, he didn’t expect it to be much different; even during the first war when You-Know-Who hadn’t won, the fear was palpable everywhere. That his dear cousin is one of those only increasing the terror is no surprise either.

“You!” The shout startles him out of his thoughts and only years of experience keep him from reacting visibly. “My children, where are they!” the man screams, limping towards their small group, and he sneers in response.

“What did he do to them! I’ll show you – “ he shouts, taking another step towards Regulus and reaching out as if to attack him. He sighs inwardly but draws his wand.

“I’d stop that if I were you,” he drawls in Bellatrix’s voice, and he has to squash his reluctance and pity to stay in character.

Unfortunately, the desperation of the shaggy man outweighs his common sense and he makes a grab for Regulus’ throat, leaving him no choice but to stun him. Bellatrix would have killed him on the spot, but there are some lines he won’t cross.

“Well that was – “ Ron starts, only to be interrupted by footsteps behind them.

“Madame Lestrange,” a voice says, and Regulus turns slowly, a sneer curling his lips as he looks at the man striding towards them. He doesn’t recognize him, but the confidence with which he approaches them means that it can only be a Death Eater.

“That’s Travers, a Death Eater,” Harry whispers next to him, and he can feel the Cloak brush against his hand briefly.

“Travers, good morning,” he says with a nod.

He returns the gesture but watches him curiously. “I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“And why is that?”

Travers shifts his weight, seemingly uncomfortable. “Well, I’ve heard that after what happened, the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor aren’t allowed to leave the house.”

He raises an eyebrow at that and doesn’t bother to keep down the smirk; Travers won’t know that it’s for completely different reasons. “While that’s certainly true for most people, the Dark Lord knows well enough how to differentiate between those most loyal to him, and those who aren’t.”

“Of course,” Travers hurries to say, his shoulders tensing, and his eyes flick to the stunned man still lying on the ground. “What happened?” he asks, obviously intent on changing the subject. Salazar, this is pathetic.

“Not important,” Regulus answers in the hope to cut this short. They don’t have all that much time, and he can see Ron and Hermione shifting nervously.

Travers nods and glances at him again. “Who are your companions, then?”

For a moment, Regulus thinks that the man meant to ask something else, but the fewer questions he has to answer, the better. At least the terror Bellatrix puts into people works in his favour for once.

“Dragomir Despard, and his wife, Mihaela. They’re from Transylvania, and interested in the Dark Lord’s cause,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, already turning to leave.

The three of them shake hands before Travers addresses him once more. “Where are you going, then?”

Before Regulus can answer, Hermione says, “Gringotts.”

“Ah, just as I am,” Travers says with a nod, and Regulus bites back a wince. There’s nothing they can say to that, and they walk down the quiet street until they reach the bank.

Instead of the Goblin guards he remembers, two wizards are standing next to the door, holding thin metal rods. Griphook told them that it’s a new security measure to detect any spells, artefacts, or other means of deceit.

He lets Travers go first, and barely hears the muttered _‘Confundo’_ from Harry before he snarls at the two guards, “You just checked us!”

They stare at each other in confusion, but he doesn’t wait for them to sort it out. It’s only half acting by now. He thinks he’s managing Bellatrix rather well, but now that they arrived at the bank, the magnitude of what they’re intending to do hits him again, and he has to take a few, calming breaths to not let it show.

Travers approaches one of the counters first, but much to Regulus’ dismay – and Ron’s and Hermione’s too if their easily readable expressions are anything to go by – he steps to the side when he’s finished as if to wait for them.

Regulus decides to ignore it. “I want to visit my vault,” he drawls and smirks when the Goblin’s eyes widen as soon as he sees him.

“Madame Lestrange! Of course, we just need you to identify yourself.”

He narrows his eyes but pulls the wand that feels so revolting that the hairs on his arm stand, and hands it over. The moment he does, he knows that it was stupid by the way the other Goblins are watching them. And of course it is – Bellatrix’s wand was stolen, she was terrified they were in her vault, so why _wouldn’t_ they warn Gringotts?

The Goblin across from him tenses, and then his face blanks over and he comments on how Bellatrix must have a new wand. Regulus frowns, only more so when Travers walks over to ask who made it, but then seems to suddenly forget his interest.

A hundred questions are whirling through his mind, and a glance at Ron and Hermione shows him that they’re just as confused, just not as good as hiding it. He stays calm though and watches as the Goblin calls for someone to bring him the Clankers Griphook told them about.

Regulus has a distinct suspicion of what might have caused the sudden lack of interest, but it seems too unlikely.

The Goblin has just received a bag and come around, when someone calls, “Bogrod!”

There’s some whispering between the Goblins, scraps of _‘Lestrange vault’_ and _‘orders’_ reaching Regulus, but Bogrod brushes the other Goblin off and gestures for them to follow him out of the hall and into the rough stone passageway, followed by Travers.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Harry pulls off the cloak and Griphook jumps down from his back.

“Harry!” Hermione hisses, staring wide-eyed at Travers, but the man seems utterly unconcerned by Harry Potter appearing out of thin air.

It confirms his suspicion even before Harry says, “They’re under the Imperius.”

“Did – did you cast it before?” he can’t help but ask, staring at Harry without knowing what he’s supposed to think. He knows that they would’ve been caught otherwise, but there’s an uncomfortable weight settling in his stomach.

Harry doesn’t look happy either but shakes his head. “No, never. Griphook said they know, and I think even with the two of them under it, the rest of them is still suspicious.”

Regulus nods and decides to let the matter rest, at least for now. “What now?”

Ron and Hermione look uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other and pressing close together, while Griphook sneers in obvious impatience.

“It’s our only chance,” Harry says, shaking his head. “We should go on, and quickly.”

“Very well,” Griphook nods before either of them can say anything. “Bogrod needs to call the cart, and there’s not enough space to take that one along.”

Within seconds, Harry has sent Travers off to hide somewhere and the rest of them have somehow managed to fit into the small cart. Regulus is sure that he can hear raised voices coming from the entrance hall, but it’s all droned out when the cart gives a jerk and rushes down the narrow rails.

He usually likes this part, the speed and sharp turns reminding him of flying, but they’re a tight fit with four wizards and two Goblins, so he keeps a strong grip on Harry and the edge of the cart.

They move deeper and deeper into the depths of the bank, the Lestrange vaults nearly as old as those of the Blacks. Regulus is just thinking that they’ll make it when there’s a waterfall appearing in front of them.

Griphook’s “ _No!_ ” is much too late, and then there’s water everywhere, they’re falling, and panic courses through him. He can’t breathe, the phantom sensation of hands grasping him, they’re going to die –

And then their fall is slowed and they sink to the ground, landing softly.

It’s only when Harry crouches down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder that he really comes back to himself. He only catches the end of Griphook’s explanation about defences that were set off and how the ‘Thief’s downfall’ washes away any and all concealments.

“The Imperius,” he croaks, taking Harry’s offered hand to get back to his feet.

They both turn to look at Bogrod, who’s blinking in confusion. Harry sighs and pulls his wand, muttering, “Imperio.”

Regulus uses the time to transfigure his robes into something that actually fits, but startles when Hermione says that she thinks she can hear people coming.

Before he can come up with anything, she has already pointed her wand at where they fell from and cast a strong Protego.

He smiles faintly; there’s a part of him that wants to ask how they’re going to get back, but he doubts that anyone has a better answer than himself.

Ron asks though, and much as he expected, Harry only says, “We’ll worry about that when we get there,” and that’s that.

“Get out the Clankers and come on. We don’t have much time, and Bogrod needs to open the vault,” Griphook orders, and they quickly distribute the metal devices among themselves before walking the short distance to turn a corner.

A large, pale dragon is sitting in the vast cavern, its eyes a milky white and its face littered with a myriad of thin scars. Heavy shackles bind his legs to the floor, and even though it’s not the first time that Regulus sees it, it still makes his chest clench in sympathy.

The dragon flinches as soon as they shake the Clankers, cowering back into a corner, and Regulus keeps half an eye on it while Bogrod puts his hand against the door to open the vault.

They step inside and all jump when the door shuts behind them, Griphook’s reassurance that Bogrod can let them out as soon as they’re finished doing nothing against Regulus’ racing heart.

It’s not as big as the main vaults of the old families usually are, leading him to the conclusion that it must be Bellatrix’s personal one. It’s still filled with so much gold, jewellery, suits of armour and other trinkets that Regulus doesn’t manage to suppress a groan.

Harry described Hufflepuff’s cup to them, but they’re not even sure if that’s what hidden here. There’s nothing for it though, and they all stare around the low room in the hope of spotting whatever they’re searching for.

“Here, could this – “ Hermione starts, only to let out a pained scream and drop whatever she has been holding. The cup hits the floor and starts multiplying, but Regulus’ eyes are fixed on the burn on Hermione’s hand.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters at the same time as Griphook says, “Gemino and Flagrante Curse. Don’t touch anything.”

They try, but it’s impossible. Ron knocks into a suit of armour, and Regulus stumbles against a table filled with potion vials and jewellery, and the temperature in the room is rising quickly.

“There!” Harry suddenly shouts, pointing at something on a high shelf. As Griphook told them, Accio doesn’t work, and by now Regulus has to actively fight back against the panic. Wherever something touches him, it burns through his clothes, they can hear voices and the dragon outside, and even when Harry gets the sword, the cup is still out of reach.

Hermione levitates Harry with a spell, but he knocks into another shelf and the following flood of multiplying objects knocks all of them off their feet. By now there are so many objects duplicating that there’s no way to stop it anymore. Gold and goblets, potion vials and jewellery litter the floor, rising up their legs and burning their skin, and they’re all barely keeping back the screams.

Regulus tries to keep an eye on Harry, dangling in the air and stretching as far as possible to get the cup with the sword, but it gets more impossible by the second. Despite his best intentions, memories creep to the forefront of his mind, the all-consuming fear that he escaped a cave and a lake, just to drown in blazing hot treasures.

A scream, worse than any of those they’ve let out up until now rips him from his panic, and he barely catches how Harry pulls Griphook out of the sea of gold that’s now up to his chest, burning holes into his clothes while all he can do is to hold on to his wand.

For a few seconds, he can’t see Harry, has no idea what’s happening, and then the vault door opens and they’re swept out on an avalanche of treasures, only to come face to face with dozens of Goblins, armed with daggers and swords.

He can see Griphook, holding the sword of Gryffindor, breaking away from them and finding refuge within the ranks of the Goblins, and he spares a second to snarl in frustration. Of course, they should have seen this coming, should have come up with a plan on how to keep the sword, but he pushes it away when several wizards turn the corner with raised wands.

Harry is already shooting Stunners, the dragon roars and spits fire, thankfully in the opposite direction, and Regulus quickly joins Harry, Ron, and Hermione in casting spells.

Still, there are just too many opponents, and he still has no idea how they’re supposed to make it out of here. Such a Gryffindor plan, all over again, and a part of him wants to laugh at the realisation that he didn’t even question it all that much.

Not like they had much of a choice, though that’s not going to help anyone if they don’t make it out of here.

Then he hears Harry shout, “Relashio,” his wand aimed at the shackles that are holding the agitated dragon, and this time, Regulus does laugh, the sound slightly maniac.

“Come on!” Harry shouts, already climbing onto the back of the dragon while keeping up a steady stream of spells, and Regulus grabs Hermione by her hand to drag her along.

Somehow, they make it all onto the smooth back. “This will never work!” Hermione shouts behind him and he agrees, but it’s not like there’s any other way.

The dragon finally seems to realise that it’s no longer bound and gives a roar. Regulus has to hold on with all his strength as it spreads its wings and pushes off the ground, up into the tunnel from where they’ve come from.

It’s still spitting fire, the heat cracking the floor and ceiling, and after a few moments, Hermione starts casting ‘ _Defodio_ ,’ to help. Regulus, Ron, and Harry quickly join in, breaking away chunks of stone, and slowly but surely, they make their way upwards.

He has no idea how long it takes, but eventually, they break through the wall into the marble entrance hall, and Regulus laughs again at the picture of wizards and Goblins alike stumbling out of the way.

Fresh air hits them as soon as they burst through the doors, and the dragon quickly accelerates in circles until it’s high up.

Relief would be the wrong word for what he feels; they’re still sitting on the back of a dragon with no means of controlling it, or even knowing how long it’s going to fly, or to where – there’s a chance it’ll head for the sea, or that it’ll notice his four passengers.

It’s still a ridiculously fantastic feeling that they’ve made it out, and he turns his head to grin at Harry. “We’ve made it!” he shouts, and Harry grins back briefly.

“Yes, but – now he’ll know,” he shouts back over the soaring wind, and the single sentence is enough to make his stomach drop.

For the next few hours, there’s nothing they can do but to hold on for dear life. It’s not nearly distracting enough to avoid pondering all the implications. On top of that, he’s hungry, cold, exhausted, and every part of his body hurts.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows over the landscape that’s still rushing past underneath them, and Regulus is just considering if they could jump and apparate in the air, when Ron shouts, “Are we losing height?”

They do; the dragon is drawing circles again, a large lake beneath them, and they all agree when Harry proposes to jump once they’re low enough, before the dragon realises that there’s a snack on his back.

It’s still higher than he expected, and landing in water is – well. Horrifying. He panics, his arms and legs flailing uselessly, and would have probably not made it if Harry didn’t grab him from somewhere and dragged him back to the surface.

He’s coughing, the feeling of water in his lungs still making it hard to breathe for more than the obvious reasons, but he somehow manages a croaked, “I’m sorry,” until Harry stops their movement and kisses him harshly.

“Don’t be,” he says after pulling back, his hair clinging to his skin while he’s smiling softly. “We’re fine, aren’t we? At least when we get out of this.”

He doesn’t manage more than a nod and drops to the ground unceremoniously as soon as they reach the shore. The other three do the same, and for long moments, they only lie there, trying to catch their breath and comprehend everything that happened over the last few hours.

“We broke into Gringotts. We made it out, on the back of a bloody _dragon_ ,” Ron finally says, propping himself up on his elbows and looking over the lake where the dragon settled down on a bank several hundred feet away from them.

Harry snorts, and soon they’re all laughing loudly, holding their stomachs. This time, it lacks the hysterical note, and Regulus reaches out to link his and Harry’s fingers together.

“We really did,” Harry grins, turning his head to look at him. “That was even better than out-flying a dragon.”

“Oh, do shut up,” he grins back, only for Harry to flick his nose before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When they’ve calmed down, Hermione hands them all a set of fresh clothes and a bottle of Dittany to treat the various burns they’re all sporting. She follows with bottles of Pumpkin juice and sandwiches that Kreacher packed for them, while Harry puts up the wards they’ve gotten used to during their extended camping trip.

Dry and not as starved, they all feel remarkably better. Regulus leans against Harry, watching the sunset reflect in the still water and ignoring the innocent-looking cup that’s lying in the grass in front of them.

He smiles contentedly, but it slips when Harry’s face contorts in pain, one hand flying up to press against the scar. Pained groans start spilling from his lips and he’s shuddering all over, his face continually getting paler.

“Shit, I fucking _hate_ when this happens,” he grinds out, unable to do anything but rub circles into Harry’s back and wait. Hermione and Ron look just as tense and worried, and the time it takes until Harry comes back to himself seems like an eternity.

“He knows,” is the first thing he says when he finally does, flopping back on his back with his hand still pressed against his forehead. “And he’s – not happy.”

Regulus can guess just how much _‘not happy’_ is a euphemism but decides that it’s really not the time to call that out right now.

“He’s going to check on the others. The last one is at Hogwarts,” Harry adds, already jumping back to his feet and gathering the few things they’ve unpacked.

Regulus and Ron follow suit; there’s no time to waste, and he doesn’t even want to imagine what You-Know-Who at Hogwarts will mean.

Hermione steps in front of them, her expression terrified. ”We can’t just run into Hogwarts! Do you even know where in the school it’s hidden?”

Harry huffs, a muscle in his jaw jumping, and Regulus presses a hand between his shoulders. “He was more focused on warning Snape. But in a few hours at most he’ll know that the others are gone; the ring, the locket – we don’t have a choice, Mione.”

For a few seconds, the two of them only stare at each other before she nods sharply. “Alright. We’ll need to apparate underneath the cloak but four of us don’t fit underneath, so we’ll add Disillusionment Charms. Ginny said in her last letter through Kreacher that some of them are hiding in the Room of Requirements and Aberforth from the Hogs Head is helping them. We should apparate close to there and try to see if he’s willing to help us get inside the castle.”

Regulus manages a fond smile at the way she’s instantly switching into planning, but it doesn’t help against the anxiety coursing through him. There’s no doubt that this can only result in a direct confrontation eventually, now that Voldemort knows what they’re after.

At the same time, there’s a small part of him that can’t wait for the bastard to finally find out that it was him who discovered his secret first, and bloody hell, all that contact with Gryffindors seems to rub off on him.

One thing still bothers him though. “Why does he check on the other Horcruxes first? Are you sure?”

Harry smiles mirthlessly. “As per the usual megalomania, he’s not only convinced that he would’ve felt if they were destroyed, but he’s also convinced that we won’t be able to get into Hogwarts, much less find the one that’s hidden there. To be fair, we don’t even know what it is but, you know.”

Regulus nods, and he’s not sure if he’s glad or irked that Voldemort won’t find the note he has left behind in the cave. Probably both.

“Alright then, let’s go,” Ron says, determination gleaming in his eyes, and they huddle together to apply the Disillusionment Charms and wrap the cloak around themselves as much as is possible.

With a crack, they appear a few hundred feet away from the entrance of the Hogs Head. As soon as they get their footing back, a loud, high noise rings through the whole village, making them all jump and press closer together.

Regulus feels like the only thing keeping him from running is Harry’s warm, solid body pressed against his side.

“What now? We can’t just walk into the Hogs Head, we have no idea who’s in there!” Hermione hisses, the sound covered by the still blaring alarm. 

Neither of them gets to answer, and Regulus doubts they’d have one even if the door to the Three Broomsticks hadn’t opened that moment to release at least ten robed and masked Death Eaters into the main street.

“Accio Cloak!” one of them shouts, and Regulus’ grip on his wand tightens further, but nothing happens.

It’s followed by furious exclamations and claims that they know Harry Potter is here, mixed with spells cast around at random. Every fibre of Regulus wants to return the fire, but he stays as still as he can, his free hand holding Harry’s in an iron grip.

The call for Dementors lets him know that he can tense even further.

“We need to leave, now!” Hermione whispers, just as another Death Eater counters the argument of how the Dark Lord wants Harry Potter alive with the fact that he doesn’t need his soul for that.

“Let’s go!” Regulus agrees as silently as possible, and relief washes through him when Ron and Harry nod.

They try to apparate, but it doesn’t work; there are wards up, and they are well and truly trapped. The cloak doesn’t cover most of their legs, and a Disillusionment Charm only goes so far with the way spells and the bright Lumos in between illuminate the village full of Death Eaters looking for them.

Regulus’ mind is racing, but he’s distracted by the cold that creeps over him, the first flickers of despair and utter terror gripping him.

Harry curses under his breath. “I can’t cast a Patronus, it’s too well known!”

Regulus closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. Even with their continued lessons, he has never managed more than incorporeal mist, but it’s been a while since he tried.

“I cast, and as soon as I do, we run,” he says, drawing his shoulders back and pushing the fear behind his Occlumency shields as best as he can.

He pulls up memories of the last weeks. Of nights spent with Harry in front of the tent and talking, of the sense of belonging, of Sirius and Ron and Hermione defending him, of their first real kiss, of last night when Harry told him not only that he loves him but everything that followed. He lets the feelings wash through him, warm and bright and perfect.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he stares in wonder as the white mist swirls and takes form for the first time. And then he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“It’s – it’s a stag,” Harry mutters, obviously forgetting to keep his voice down while his eyes are fixed on the Patronus that’s already charging down the narrow street. Regulus can relate, the sudden surge of fondness and _‘Of course it would be, how could it be anything else?’_ contrasting harshly with everything else.

The loud shouts startle them all out of their shock, and they move down the narrow alley to their side in an attempt to somehow get out of the wards.

They’re just moving past the Hogs Head, a group of Death Eaters running towards them from the other end of the street, when a door is opened in their back. “Potter, in here!” someone hisses, and they don’t hesitate to filter into the dark room of the shady pub.

Aberforth steps outside after gesturing towards the stairs. They don’t dare to pull the cloak off but do as they were told, carefully listening to the argument that follows downstairs.

Regulus can’t help his smirk when the Death Eaters actually buy that the Patronus was a goat and that the alarm was tripped by Aberforth’s cat, but his heart is still beating painfully against his ribcage, and he’s not ready yet to let go of Harry at his side.

They only pull the cloak off when Aberforth comes upstairs, and he stares at them with narrowed eyes. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking, coming here?”

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” Harry immediately says, only a fraction of the tension leaving his shoulders, and Aberforth scoffs. “You’re Dumbledore’s brother, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Ron’s stomach grumbles loudly, eliciting a small quirk of Aberforth’s lips. “I’ll get you some food. Sit down,” he says gruffly and disappears down the stairs again.

They sit down around the small table, and Regulus smiles weakly when Harry presses their legs together. It’s only when Aberforth puts plates with sandwiches and bottles of butterbeer down that he realises how hungry he is despite the small snack they had earlier.

Neither of them talks while they eat, the silence heavy in the room. Regulus distracts himself from the awkwardness with looking around, his eyes lingering on the portrait of a young girl that’s hanging over the hearth.

“You can wait until sunrise and then sneak into the mountains to apparate from there,” Aberforth says when they’ve finished the food, and Regulus sighs to himself at the inevitable discussion.

He only listens with half an ear; Harry tries to explain how Dumbledore left him a job, Aberforth asks sarcastically if it’s a nice job, suitable for a bunch of teenagers, and tells them to leave the country; how all the people his brother ever came into contact with only made it out worse, and that the war is lost.

Regulus just keeps hold of Harry’s hand and stays silent, as do Ron and Hermione. Somehow, they all know that this is more about Harry’s ongoing conflict with Dumbledore, and even though he has no room to talk, he does get where Aberforth is coming from.

There are not many good reasons why Dumbledore left the job to Harry of all people, and the only ones that are, are not any Regulus wants to consider, hasn’t wanted to in weeks.

He only starts paying close attention again when a question from Hermione about the portrait he noticed earlier changes Aberforth’s demeanour from sarcastic to pained anger and he starts telling them the tale of Ariana.

It already starts horrible, a young girl attacked by three boys because they saw her doing accidental magic, and a father who wants to avenge her and goes to Azkaban for it, keeping his reason to himself to save her from being locked up in St. Mungos; how it led her to resent her magic without being able to get rid of it, and how the family moved and tried to keep her calm and safe.

The grief on Aberforth’s face when he recalls how he was her favourite, the one who always managed to calm her down and get her to eat, is so raw that it’s hard to believe how much time must have passed.

No matter how hard Regulus tries to imagine the pain that would come from seeing his brother like that, it’s impossible.

Harry’s hand clenches around his painfully when Aberforth goes on to tell them how one day, she had one of her rages and killed their mother. It’s obvious that he blames himself for not being there, but there’s nothing they could possibly say.

Somehow, it still gets worse, with Dumbledore reluctantly staying to take care of the family, getting involved with Grindelwald, planning the subjugation of Muggles, and Aberforth finally having enough.

Regulus feels nauseous when it comes to the final fight between the three of them and, eventually, Ariana’s death.

Aberforth looks wrung out, Hermione is crying and Ron white as a sheet, while Harry’s lips are pressed into a thin line and his eyes so troubled that Regulus thinks he might’ve been better off not hearing this.

“Well, and then Albus was finally free, wasn’t he?” Aberforth finally breaks the silence, the bitterness and the statement itself resonating uncomfortably with Regulus, even though their stories couldn’t be more different.

Harry straightens in his chair. “He never was.”

Aberforth eyes narrow dangerously, but Harry quickly shakes his head. “The night he died – he had to drink a potion – “

Regulus closes his eyes and holds his breath, trying to tune out what Harry’s saying about pleads and begs and torture, to not let his memories of nightmares induced by the Drink of Despair resurface.

He tunes back in just in time to catch Aberforth asking how Harry can be sure that he wasn’t as dispensable for the Greater Good as his little sister to Dumbledore. Why, if Dumbledore loved him as Hermione claims, he didn’t tell him to hide. It’s a question he’d like to have an answer to as well. Or maybe not.

“Sometimes, you can’t think only of yourself!” Harry exclaims, steel creeping into his tone as he glares at Aberforth. “And it’s not like I’m not aware of what this means, of the possible consequences – of the chance that this could very well cost me my life. But I don’t want any more of my friends to die either, so giving up is just not an option.”

It’s such a Harry-thing to say and it’s that moment that Regulus realises that, no matter how much he wishes they could’ve stayed out of this, could’ve avoided all the shit they both went through, it’s one of the things he loves most about Harry; this unapologetic goodness, how he knows what is right and never backs down.

He just hopes that it won’t cost either of them even more than it already has.

Aberforth stays silent and scowls, obviously still conflicted over the fact that four teenagers are this unconcerned to risk their lives. At least, Regulus thinks it has to look that way.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “We need to get into Hogwarts. If you can’t help us, we’ll leave tomorrow morning, but if you can, it would be great if you’d let us know now.”

There’s another drawn-out pause before the last remains of anger seem to leave Aberforth and he gets up to address the portrait of his sister. “You know what to do,” is all he says, and she gives him a small smile before turning and walking away.

Regulus isn’t sure how long they wait. He feels like his sense of time is screwed over, and he simply holds on to Harry’s hand and repeats within his mind that it’s going to be fine. He doesn’t believe himself.

Eventually, there’s a movement within the frame and he frowns when Ariana seems to reappear with another person, only for his eyes to widen in surprise when the portrait swings open to reveal a boy their age with bruises on his face, smiling brightly.

“Neville!” Ron shouts in surprise. “Merlin, what happened to your face?”

Regulus hangs back while Harry, Hermione, and Ron greet the tall boy, uncertain what to do with himself.

He doesn’t get the chance to slink into the shadows, though. “You must be Regulus, right?” Neville says with a grin after he has waved off Hermione’s questions about his injuries. At their confused looks, his grin broadens and he shrugs. “Ginny told us about you. Come on, let’s go.”

He considers it for a moment and then decides not to ask what exactly Ginny told Neville, and whoever else ‘ _us’_ is. It’s not all that important, and Neville seems unperturbed enough with his presence.

They offer a quick goodbye to Aberforth who merely huffs in response, and then climb into the hole in the wall, entering into a tunnel that’s barely high enough to walk in.

“I didn’t know of this way into the school,” Harry says where he walks in front of him, sounding curious.

Neville throws a grin over his shoulder. “It’s new, we’re not sure how it works exactly either. The Death Eaters guard all the other entrances, but when I had to hide from the Carrows in the Room of Requirements, it came up with it. It’s how Aberforth provides us with food.”

“What do you mean, ‘us’? And why do you have to hide?” Hermione pipes up from behind Regulus, and they can see Neville shake his head.

“You’ll see. We’re nearly there.”

Regulus is sure that he’s not alone with the need to ask a bunch of questions, but the narrow tunnel is rising steeply, and they’re all rather out of breath when they finally arrive at the end.

He jumps down after Harry and nearly forgets to make space for Ron and Hermione. The room they’re in is huge, hammocks and house-banners hanging everywhere and there are at least twenty students here.

The most baffling thing is that they’re all cheering, calling Harry’s, Ron’s, and Hermione’s name and clapping loudly. One look at Harry is enough for Regulus to see how much he hates it already.

“Right!” Harry exclaims when it doesn’t stop, and grimaces when everyone falls silent instantly. Regulus has to bite back a smile and presses their shoulders together. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Neville smiles sympathetically and nods. “You know how You-Know-Who has started to abduct children of his opposition, like Luna because her father kept printing articles in favour of you, right?”

Harry nods in response and absently reaches for Regulus’ hand.

“Good, and you also know from Ron and Ginny how we kept up a resistance here?”

Harry nods again and gestures for Neville to go on, impatience slowly overriding his bewilderment. His face is tense, and Regulus suspects that he’s holding back against another vision.

“They knew that Ginny, Luna, and I were kind of the leaders. But with Ginny’s family mostly in hiding and Luna gone, I was the only one they could do something about. So they tried to capture my gran.” Here, Neville smirks. “Of course, they underestimated her and she got away, but it probably made them think they can go after me. I wasn’t keen on seeing if they wanted to send me to Azkaban or straight-out murder me, so I came here. And as you can see, it’s grown a bit since then. Most of the DA is here now, and the only thing the room can’t provide is food, which Aberforth takes care of.”

“I didn’t know the room could do so much,” Hermione says, and there’s the gleam in her eyes that she gets when she’s immensely intrigued by something.

“It even provided bathrooms, and with every person from another house, it added banners,” a boy, whose face looks even worse than Neville’s, says. “Neville really gets the room!”

“That’s great, but –“ Harry starts, only to be cut off when the portrait in their back opens again to reveal Luna and Dean. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Harry groans, but it’s swallowed by another round of cheers.

Neville seemed to have heard him though. “I sent for them as soon as we knew you came,” he says and gets out a Galleon from his pocket. “These were really useful this year.”

Regulus squeezes Harry’s hand when he closes his eyes and draws a deep breath, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“Listen, we need to – “

“Who’s that with you, Harry?” a girl with long, brown hair interrupts, accompanied by a giggle from her friend.

Regulus has to suppress the urge to rub his temples. He has no idea what to make of this; on the one hand, it’s not surprising that Harry still has so much support within the school, regardless of how little he likes or understands it. On the other, it’s rather hindering them right now, and he can see that Harry is struggling to keep his temper in check.

“That’s my boyfriend, but we really need to – “

There are cheers again, and Regulus wants to sink into the floor or hex someone. Seriously, either would be fine. He’s nearly thankful when the portrait opens again to reveal two similar-looking redheads – most likely the two Weasleys he hasn’t had the pleasure to meet during his stay at Grimmauld Place. They’re followed by a dark-skinned boy and a girl, who all smile brightly.

“What the fuck,” Harry groans, glaring at Neville who only keeps grinning sheepishly.

“Now we’re going to free the school, right?” a boy who’s still hugging Dean shouts excitedly, and the noise level in the room rises even further. “Is it true that you broke into Gringotts and fled on the back of a dragon?”

Next to Regulus, Harry staggers slightly and turns his back to the room, and he’s rather done with this. Drawing his wand, he shoots a spell into the air that produces a loud bang and instantly silences the room.

Everyone is looking at him now, some with vaguely concealed wariness, and he holds himself back from rolling his eyes. “We’re not here to lead a revolution or whatever you’re imagining. Seriously, use your brains, how’s that even supposed to work?”

“But – “ someone shouts, and he glares into the general direction of where the sound came from.

“I’m not finished. Just _think_ for a moment, honestly – what do you think would happen even if you chased the Carrows and Snape out of Hogwarts? You-Know-Who has all of Britain in his grasp, do you think he would hesitate to attack the school? There are first-years here, for fuck’s sake.”

“So what, we’re supposed to just go along with it?” Neville says, all traces of cheerfulness vanished from his face, and this time, Regulus does roll his eyes.

“Sure, we just risked coming here to tell you that,” he drawls, shaking his head.

Just then, Harry turns back to face the room and squeezes his hand, his face pale and shoulders tense. “We’re not here to fight –“ he starts, only to be interrupted again.

“You’re leaving us to deal with You-Know-Who on our own?” someone shouts, and Regulus grinds his teeth.

“Merlin, are you all stupid?” he says before Harry can answer. “We’re here to deal with something else, and – “

“Let us help, then!” Neville interrupts again. “We can fight, it’s what the DA is for, after all. We don’t want to just sit around.”

There are a lot of agreeing murmurs, and Harry rubs a hand over his face. Regulus doesn’t know what to say anymore, the whole thing is just holding them back, and he feels like he’s not the right person to tell them all to lay off.

Ron steps closer to them and they turn slightly away from the room at large. “We can let them help. We don’t know what we’re looking for, even less where it is. We don’t have to tell them it’s a Horcrux, right?”

It’s not the worst idea, and Regulus gives a minuscule nod when Harry looks at him questioningly.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, his eyes conflicted before he sighs. “You’re probably right. He just discovered that the ring is gone, and I don’t know if he’s going to check for the locket or Hogwarts next.”

“Alright, everyone,” he says loudly, and everyone turns silent and looks at them. “We’re searching for something that… will help us to bring down You-Know-Who. Unfortunately, we don’t know what, exactly. Do any of you know of something that belonged to Ravenclaw, maybe bears the house crest?”

“There’s Ravenclaw’s diadem,” Luna speaks up from where she’s sitting close to Ginny. “Supposedly it’s lost, but Daddy tried to duplicate it.”

Regulus remembers hearing about that once, but it completely slipped his mind until now.

“There’s a statue in the Ravenclaw common room that wears a copy of it,” he says and smirks when Harry looks at him with surprise. “You’re not the only one who sneaked around the school.”

“I can show you,” the girl that arrived with the Weasley twins says with a sweet smile directed at Harry, and Regulus has to bite back a sneer. Seriously, sometimes this whole feeling-stuff is rather ridiculous.

Harry tilts his head and eventually nods. “It would be good to know how it looks.”

“But it’s lost,” an unfriendly looking boy speaks up, rolling his eyes, but Harry ignores him when Regulus clears his throat.

“I know where the common room is, and how to get in.”

“Perfect, let’s go. We can use the cloak,” Harry says, then turns to Ron and Hermione. “Are you alright with staying here? We’re faster that way.”

They nod, and after Neville shows them how to get out of the room, they wrap the cloak around themselves and squeeze through the small cupboard that leads them onto a steep staircase.

It ends at a blank wall that melts away at a touch, and they find themselves in a dark corridor. Harry fumbles with the pouch around his neck until he finds the map.

“We’re up in the fifth-floor corridor,” he whispers against Regulus’ ear, and he nods in response, gesturing to their right.

Despite the cloak and the map, they barely dare to breathe and creep forwards so carefully that it would have to look ridiculous from an outside perspective.

Somehow, they make it to the spiral staircase that leads up to the Ravenclaw tower unnoticed, and Regulus has to shove down the memories associated with the place. Towards the end of his time at Hogwarts, he and Barty spent a lot of time up in the common room and his dorm, none of the students daring to say anything.

Shaking his head, he smiles briefly at Harry when they reach the door. “It asks you a riddle,” he whispers at Harry’s questioning look and then raises his hand to knock.

Harry looks exasperated. “What if you get it wrong?”

“Hush,” he says, just as the beak of the eagle opens.

“Which room do ghosts avoid?” it asks, the sound way too loud in the silent castle, and he frowns in contemplation.

Then he smirks. “The living room.”

Harry snorts when they step through the entrance. “So, what if you get it wrong?”

“You have to wait for someone else, so not the best option in our case,” he answers, tugging at Harry to drag him over to the hearth where the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw sits.

He clenches his jaw when Harry steps out from underneath the cloak to take a closer look at the diadem resting on her head, but he doesn’t say anything, not even when Harry mutters, “Wit beyond measure is men’s greatest treasure.”

Of course, he instantly regrets it when a voice behind them speaks up. “Well, and that would make you an idiot, right?”

They whirl around and raise their wands simultaneously, Regulus still hidden from view, but they’re both too slow to keep Alecto Carrow from pressing a finger to her mark while smirking at them triumphantly.

Harry stumbles, his hand flying to his forehead, and Alecto laughs gleefully.

It slips a second later when Regulus casts a Stunner, and seriously, someone should appreciate his self-restraint for using such a harmless spell.

The resounding crash when she flies into the bookshelf in her back is still loud, and they hear footsteps from upstairs shortly after. Harry only just makes it back under the cloak before the first students run into the common room, and they press against the hearth in their back, watching as the children and teenagers approach the stunned woman warily.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers against his ear, the sound swallowed by the noise in the common room, and Regulus tugs him closer against his side, shaking his head. He can see Harry closing his eyes again, a concentrated crease forming between his brows that Regulus wants to smooth out, but they’re both drawn back into the present when there’s a loud knock at the common room door.

“I am not alive, but I grow; I don’t have lungs, but I need air; I don’t have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?” the eagle’s voice says, and there’s a thump in response.

“Shut up, you nuisance, and let me in!” a rough voice answers, and the way several students tense and then scurry off to their dorms leads Regulus to the conclusion that it has to be Amycus.

“Alecto! Alecto, open up! Do you have Potter?” It’s followed by increasingly violent knocks against the door, while the remaining students disappear as well.

Another voice joins the first, and Harry perks up next to him, a slight smile tugging at his lips at the condescending tone. “Professor Carrow, what are you doing here? It’s in the middle of the night.”

“McGonagall, open the door,” the man barks, still hammering against the door.

“I thought your sister was in there? Why the need to wake up half the castle, then?”

Regulus exchanges an amused look with Harry before he makes sure that the woman in question is still out of it.

“I told you to open the door, you stupid woman! She’s not answering!”

Harry’s amusement melts into the first signs of anger, but McGonagall merely says coldly, “Well then,” and knocks softly against the door.

The eagle repeats the riddle, and after a brief pause, she answers, “Fire.”

Amycus pushes into the room first and growls when his eyes fall onto his unconscious sister. “What happened to her? Those audacious children, I’ll show them – and what – she called the Dark Lord! He’s going to – but – yes, that could work. I’ll tell him that _they_ made her do it,” he shouts, fractions of sentences while his face turns steadily redder.

McGonagall draws herself up, the glare on her face becoming even more pronounced. “You will do no such thing!”

“Oh, and you think you have a say in that, don’t you?” Amycus snarls, whirling around and stepping up so close to McGonagall that he’s nearly in her face. “There’s nothing you can do, and it’s high time you’ll accept that.” With that, he spits in her face.

Before Regulus can even think to react, Harry has thrown off the cloak and raised his wand. “Crucio!”

The power of his spell throws Amycus into the wall with a resounding crash, the sound drowned out by his screams. Regulus throat goes dry, and he takes an involuntary step back at the fury that’s contorting Harry’s face. The sudden weight in his stomach is even heavier than earlier this day at Gringotts when Harry used the Imperius.

“Potter!” McGonagall calls, just as Regulus pulls off the cloak and steps next to Harry to touch his shoulder.

Harry drops the spell and shakes his head once, then grimaces. “Sorry, I – that was… Well, now I know what Bellatrix meant when she said you have to mean it.”

“Potter! And – Regulus?” McGonagall repeats, sinking into the nearest armchair and looking between the two of them. “That’s impossible.”

He smiles weakly and shrugs. “Heard that a lot over the last few months, but I don’t think we have the time to get into that right now.”

She nods slowly. “What are you doing here? It was very foolish of you to come, it’s not safe!”

“We’re searching something, on – basically on Dumbledore’s order. Voldemort’s on his way.”

That’s as new to Regulus as it is to McGonagall, but it was to be expected. She simply nods sharply, then turns her wand at Amycus who’s just starting to stir again, and mutters, “Imperio.”

Regulus watches as she makes him pick up Alecto’s wand and walk over to her to hand it over, together with his own, before she binds the siblings in a silver net that she attaches to the ceiling. He wonders if this careless use of Unforgivables is something new, or hypocrisy that exceeded the Aurors in the first war already.

“Follow me,” she orders briskly, already halfway out of the room. “Put your cloak back on, both of you. I’ll alert the other Head of Houses, and we need to secure the castle. We won’t be able to keep him out completely, but we can buy you some time. We also need to evacuate the students, at least those who are underage, but with the Floo network under observation –”

“I know a way,” Harry interrupts as they follow her down the spiral staircase, and Regulus tunes him out as he explains the passageway to the Hogs Head, and how the Death Eaters won’t focus on the pub when they try to get into the school. 

No matter that he has been expecting this from the moment that Harry said Voldemort knew, it still feels like a physical blow. That he’s on his way to Hogwarts can only mean that he knows that the locket is gone too, and there’s no doubt that he won’t hesitate to kill every single person who tries to stand in his way.

He doesn’t get the time to ponder his panic, or what they’re supposed to do now. McGonagall has just sent off three Patroni to Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn, when Snape appears from behind a suit of armour, looking around suspiciously.

Harry goes rigid next to him, his face twisting into a silent snarl, and Regulus wraps his fingers around his wrist.

McGonagall lowers her wand, but it’s obvious that she’s staying alert. Regulus listens only half-heartedly as the two of them talk, every single word laced with suspicion and disdain.

Snape hasn’t even finished asking after Harry when McGonagall casts the first spell. Harry’s wand is raised as well, but Regulus pushes him to the side of the corridor and shakes his head. Intervening in a duel as fast as the one that’s currently taking place rarely does any good, and McGonagall is holding her own just fine.

Not that Snape is a bad dueller, but he’s decidedly on the defensive and only just avoids being pierced with a hundred daggers by jumping behind the armour where he appeared from.

There are footsteps coming from behind them, Flitwick and Sprout storming down the corridor, and it gets a smile out of Regulus when the former instantly growls and lets the piece of armour come alive.

The next second, Regulus has to drag Harry to the floor to avoid the huge piece of moving metal flying in their direction, and when they struggle free, Snape is actually flying, with the three teachers shouting and running after him.

“Well, that was something,” he mutters when Harry pulls him back to his feet and they rush after the group, getting a snort out of Harry. 

They arrive in the classroom down the corridor just as McGonagall shouts, “Coward!” staring out of the shattered window.

Before either of them can say anything, Slughorn appears in the doorway, panting and with sweat on his forehead, but he freezes on the spot when his eyes fall on Regulus. It leads Sprout and Flitwick to look at him more closely too, and there’s a sudden silence filling the room.

Harry huffs. “Yes, this is Regulus Black, no, we have no time to explain this, yes he’s on our side. The two of us need to search the school, Voldemort is on his way here, and – “ he breaks off and turns to McGonagall, who has just cleared her throat.

She’s smiling slightly though and then turns to her colleagues. “What Mr Potter said. We need to evacuate the students and secure the castle. Get your respective houses to the Great Hall in twenty minutes.”

Flitwick and Sprout nod, while Slughorn looks terrified. “Harry my boy, and Regulus – it’s good to see you, but… are you sure? Shouldn’t we – “

“We’re going to fight,” McGonagall cuts him off harshly. “You and your house are free to decide what you want to do.”

Harry turns to Flitwick, then. “Professor Flitwick, do you have any idea where Ravenclaw’s diadem could be?”

The small Charms Professor glances at him before pointing his wand out of the window and starts muttering incantations. “The diadem? I don’t think that’s going to help us now.”

“No, I know, just – we need to find it. You’ve never seen it? Heard a rumour?”

Flitwick frowns and shakes his head. “No, not a living person has ever seen it. It’s rumoured to have been lost since Rowena’s own time.”

“Right, thank you,” Harry mutters, pressing a hand against his forehead.

“Let’s get back and tell the others,” Regulus says, and when Harry agrees, they spare a quick nod for the Professors before rushing out of the room.

They run past several groups of students on their way up the stairs, many of them turning and staring after them, exclamations of ‘ _Harry Potter!’_ and _‘That’s him, he’s back!’_ following them all the way. It really drives it home just how much of a symbol Harry is, and Regulus has to bite back more than one snarl.

How can everyone put all their hope in a teenager? Most of these kids went to school with him, scorned him more than once, and still expect him to save all their arses, as Harry so nicely put it.

People have gone vindictive over lesser things, and he’s sure that none of them is aware how much of a wonder it is that Harry didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm sappy, so of course Regulus' Patronus would be a stag. Sue me. <3


	10. I'll See You In The Future With Your Laughter Lines

> _31/10/1979_
> 
> _“[…] Do you remember how, when we were children, we sometimes imagined how it would be like to grow up in a normal family? I’ve been thinking about that a lot – about a life without so many expectations, without serving a madman, with a future that would allow me to do what I’d like to. Maybe play Quidditch, or work in the Department of Mysteries. In the end, I could only choose between dying for the wrong or the right thing._
> 
> _At least it is a choice, right? […]”_

* * *

When they arrive back in the Room of Requirements, it’s even more packed than before. They don’t get a chance to make out anyone though, Sirius appearing in front of them as soon as they’re three steps in.

“You! You should have told me what you’re up to, or at least sent me a message when you decided to break into fucking Hogwarts! I swear to – “

“Sirius!” Regulus interrupts sharply. “We have no time for your dramatics. Voldemort is on his way and we need to evacuate the school!”

Both Harry and Sirius stare at him with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You said his name,” Harry says, and a bright grin spreads over his face. A second later, his hands fist into the front of Regulus’ jumper and he kisses him.

Only when Sirius clears his throat loudly do they break apart, though Regulus keeps grinning down at Harry. “If I knew that this is the reaction, I would’ve done that weeks ago.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “That would’ve only gotten us captured, so it’s fine.”

“Oi, didn’t you just tell me we have no time?” Sirius exclaims, throwing his hands up before crossing his arms over his chest.

They stare at each other for a moment longer before they turn back. “Right,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair and a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. “We need to search for something, did you see Ron and Hermione?”

Sirius raises a brow. “They’ve said something about a bathroom, I think. Now tell me what’s going on.”

Harry nods and throws up a Silencing Charm around them. “We broke into Gringotts earlier – “

“What?”

“Will you let me talk? We broke into Gringotts because there was a Horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault. We got that, but our escape was rather… extravagant, so Voldemort knows we’re after them. I had a vision where I learnt that one is at the school, we just don’t know what or where it is. He checked on the others and discovered they’re gone, and Regulus and I were just intercepted by one of the Carrows, who called him. He’s on his way, so as I said, evacuation, securing the school, finding a Horcrux,” Harry rattles down, slightly out of breath when he’s finished.

Sirius looks pale. “You broke into Gringotts, and made it out?”

“Yes. We escaped on a dragon, remember the one down by the old vaults?” Regulus says, and he’s decidedly not having fun with this. Not at all.

“Alright, just – okay. The Order is here, as well as some of the DA who graduated. I think Neville, Fred, and George informed everyone. I say we get everyone down into the Great Hall. What about the Carrows and Snape?”

“McGonagall took care of them,” Harry says, smiling slightly.

Sirius returns the grin. “Good old Minnie,” he mutters, and then turns to the room at large as Harry takes down the Silencing Charm. “Everyone, listen! Snape and the Carrows are out of the way, and we need to evacuate the school through this room before the fight starts.”

His announcement is met with loud roars, and everyone is rushing for the door. Regulus keeps a tight grip on Harry’s hand and they let themselves be dragged along, all the while looking for Ron and Hermione.

On their way down, they come across brigades of pieces of armour and statues, marching in formations, and they can see wards shimmering around the castle through the windows. Anticipation is hanging heavy in the air, and Regulus thinks that all the agitation of this day alone is probably costing him ten years of his life.

The Great Hall is already filled with students, most of them wearing robes or cloaks over their pyjamas and looking tired and confused, even more so when their group arrives.

“Oh, Percy is here,” Harry murmurs beside him, looking at yet another redhead, and Regulus raises a questioning eyebrow.

Harry shakes his head. “He was convinced Dumbledore and I were lying in my fifth year, and ever since didn’t talk to his family. We saw him at the Ministry, remember? With Arthur in the lift?”

There’s a faint memory of that, but he doesn’t get time to ponder it as McGonagall steps up to the podium just now and announces that Voldemort is on his way.

The confusion instantly gives way to fear. “All students that are younger than 17 will be evacuated. Prefects, please make sure to lead them to the seventh-floor corridor. If you are off age and want to stay, we can’t keep you from doing so, but please be aware of what that means.”

Before anyone can move, there’s a high, clear voice echoing through the room that Regulus remembers all too well. “Students and Professors of Hogwarts! I know that you think you can fight me, but it is a ridiculous attempt.”

Students are screaming, and Regulus’ throat is dry. At the same time, anger is bubbling in his stomach, and he clenches his hand around his wand while the other still holds on tightly to Harry.

“None of you will be harmed if you give me Harry Potter and Regulus Black. I have no desire to kill witches and wizards, just hand over Harry Potter and Regulus Black. You have until midnight,” Voldemort finishes, and a mirthless smile creeps over Regulus’ face.

Harry is staring at him with wide eyes though. “Why you? Why you, and not Sirius, Ron, Hermione? I didn’t want to put you – “

“Shut up,” he interrupts fondly, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I took his mark, he considered me _his_. I betrayed him, in the worst possible way. I not only fled or wanted out, but I have allied myself with you, of all people. He doesn’t need to know that I stole the Horcrux years ago to want revenge. But _I_ made this choice, Harry, you never asked me to. Remember, you made me promise that I knew what I was getting myself into, _and I did_. I knew how likely this outcome was from the very start. Don’t you dare to blame yourself and ignore my own choices, I do always live with them.”

He keeps looking steadily at Harry, ignoring the commotion around them, until Harry sighs and nods.

They’re just turning back to face the room when a girl at the Slytherin table gets up and points at them. “Someone grab them!”

Even Regulus is surprised when he steps in front of Harry, but he shoves it away and meets her eyes. “I understand that you’re scared, probably better than anyone else who’s not sharing your table. Well, and Harry probably, but anyway. Just _think_ for a moment – it would be his final victory. Do you really want that? Some of you may agree with his goals, though you should ask yourself what they actually are. Even if you do, you know how likely it is that you’ll only suffer, anyway. Fear is a very bad advisor, and you still have a choice. There is _always_ a choice.”

Silence stretches for what feels like ages, though it can’t be more than seconds, and Regulus is acutely aware of the weight of all the stares resting on him. He refuses to back down.

“Well said,” McGonagall finally says with a smile in his direction, and then turns to the Slytherin table. “Those of you who are off age and wish to stay, you’re welcome to join us. If you want to leave, please do so now. But I will tell you the same I said to Professor Slughorn earlier – if you undermine our resistance, we will duel to death.”

“Didn’t know you were one for grand speeches,” Harry murmurs into his ear, a teasing grin tugging at his lips when Regulus turns to look at him. “Two in a row, I’m impressed.”

He huffs but is unable to fight the quirk of his lips. “Yeah, I’m rather shocked as well,” he says, and then turns serious. “Still, they’re not all evil.”

“I know.”

“They’re just…” he rakes a hand through his hair and watches as several older students from all houses form a barrier between them and those students that are leaving. There are only a few Slytherins in between, but there are _some_ , and he just wants to believe so badly that at least a few of them listened to him.

“I know,” Harry says again, pressing their shoulders together.

Kingsley and McGonagall are just starting to explain the strategy they’ve come up with, and Regulus lets his gaze sweep through the room once more. “I don’t think Ron and Hermione are here. We should get going.”

“Right, yes,” Harry mutters, a crease forming between his brows. “Voldemort expected me to go to the Ravenclaw tower, so it has to be something from the house. No living – “ he breaks off, his eyes widening. “I got it! Do you know who the Ravenclaw ghost is?”

“Merlin, I love how smart you are,” Regulus says, and then, maybe for the first time in his life, smacks a hand against his forehead. “And _I’m_ an utter idiot!”

The amused grin that’s just been spreading over Harry’s face slips and he frowns. “You’re not. Why do you say that, though?”

Regulus groans again and stares towards the ceiling before looking back at Harry. “When I was at school, I got along with the Bloody Baron, as well as one possibly can.”

“With _him_? I’ve never seen him talk to anyone,” Harry mutters with raised eyebrows, and Regulus makes a dismissive gesture.

“I was a weird teenager and my family is well known for its bloody history and ability to keep secrets. Anyway, in my fifth year, I asked about his… make-up, and he told me that he went to school under the founders. One day, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw disappeared. He was madly in love with her, but she always rejected him. When her mother was on her deathbed, she asked him to find her. It was rumoured that she stole the diadem, even if Rowena kept it secret,” he rushes to say, the words nearly blurring into each other.

“So, what Flitwick said earlier…” Harry mutters, but he’s still looking confused, one hand fisted in his hair.

Regulus nods. “Could be true. And he eventually found her in a forest in Albania. She refused to come back with him, and he killed her in a rage, and then himself. She did return as a ghost, the Grey Lady.”

Harry freezes and gapes. “Albania? But that’s where Voldemort travelled after school and returned to again after he vanished! It’s still pretty far-fetched, though if there’s one person who’d be able to charm that story out of a reclusive ghost, it was Tom Riddle.”

“True,” Regulus sighs, grimacing slightly. “Let’s see if we can find her, maybe she can help us.”

“It’s a better lead than anything else. I still can’t believe you were friends with the Bloody Baron though,” Harry says dryly before he takes his hand and drags him out of the hall.

Regulus decides not to comment on that right now.

“Nick!” Harry shouts when they’re halfway through the entrance hall, waving towards the Gryffindor house-ghost who comes floating over. “Do you know where the Grey Lady is?”

“Harry! Yes, just over there, but if you need help, I can –“

As soon as the tall ghost sees their attention being directed at her, she turns and floats through a wall. “Thanks!” Harry cuts him off, already moving again, weaving through the many students that are still everywhere and running down a quieter corridor.

They skid to a halt when she suddenly appears in front of them. “Are you the Grey Lady?” Harry asks, and there’s a sudden urgency in his voice that reflects well how hard Regulus’ own heart is pounding in his chest.

She nods, and simply watches them. “We need your help, please! We need to know everything you know about the lost diadem, or more importantly if you’ve ever told a Tom Riddle about it.”

Up until now, Regulus didn’t think that ghosts could blanch, but she definitely does.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says coldly, turning to leave, and Harry’s hand tightens around his own so much that it hurts.

“Wait! _Please_! If you ever told him about it – if it’s true that it was hidden in Albania, and he might have found it, we need to know! If you care about Hogwarts – “

“How dare you!” she hisses, whirling around and crossing the distance between them way too quickly. “Of course I care about Hogwarts! But the diadem won’t help you.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Regulus exclaims before Harry can, and seriously, he’s doing that an awful lot recently. “We don’t care about its rumoured powers. If he found it, he turned it into – let’s call it a weapon. The only way to defeat him is to destroy it, and if he _didn’t_ use the diadem, he used something else. So either way, you’d help us greatly if you just told us yes or no!”

“Did you steal it, and if yes, did you tell him where you hid it?” Harry follows up when she stays eerily still and silent, and by now he sounds more desperate than urgent.

When she doesn’t answer, Harry growls and turns away. “Come on, this is hopeless – “

“Yes,” she says quietly. “He was… he seemed to understand, was flattering...”

Harry sighs and his eyes turn softer. “Yes, he was quite good at that. So, it was hidden in an Albanian forest, and you told him?”

She nods, but Harry’s no longer paying attention to her. “When he applied for the Defence-position,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself, and then startles out of it. “Right, thank you. Come on!”

With that, he tugs at Regulus’ hand again and they run back towards the entrance hall where the last students are making their way up to the seventh floor, and Order members and those who are staying are organising themselves.

“What did you mean, when he applied?” Regulus asks as they’re rushing up the stairs, pressing past students and ignoring the muttering portraits.

Harry pulls them to a halt. “He applied for the Defence position, sometime during the ’50s. That must be when he hid the diadem in the school because there’s no way he left it in a forest in Albania,” he explains, at the same time fumbling with his pouch to draw the map out. “We need to find Ron and Hermione, where the hell _are_ they?”

“So, he hid it on his way to or from the headmaster’s office?” Regulus asks, already running through the possibilities in his head.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Harry says with a small grin, then taps his wand to the map.

Searching for anyone on it is hopeless though. There are hundreds of spots moving, and it’s impossible to make out the names, much less find someone specific.

With a frustrated sound, Harry packs the map away and looks at his watch. “Shit, it’s nearly midnight! We – “

A resounding crash from their right makes them both jump violently, something big and furry-looking flying through the window, and there’s already a curse on the tip of Regulus’ tongue when Harry shouts, “Hagrid!”

The following hug looks decidedly painful on Harry’s part, and Regulus is just glad that the huge dog is also concentrating on Harry. Might be selfish, but he’s not keen on being barrelled over if he can help it.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks when he’s released, craning his neck to look at Hagrid who’s wearing a grim expression.

“Heard his voice up in the mountains and knew you had to be here. Grawp carried Fang and me through the forest, told him to let me down at the castle. He interpreted it differently, but well – where are Ron and Hermione?”

Harry rolls his eyes and grabs Regulus’ hand, starting to walk again. “Wouldn’t we like to know.”

Apparently, Hagrid notices Regulus’ presence only then and stops in his tracks. “You’re not Sirius,” he states and tilts his head. “You look like his – “

“Younger brother. Yes, that’s me,” Regulus says with a sigh. “Long story.”

Hagrid nods slowly and seems to decide not to bother. Regulus instantly likes him.

Just then, something shakes the whole castle, the crash so loud that his ears are ringing. Flashes of light filter in through the windows, and there are shouts and raised voices all around them.

For a second, he closes his eyes and simply lets himself be dragged along by Harry. It’s something he would’ve gladly left in the past, but he pulls at the remains of the determination he used to get through his raids, shoving all his fears and doubts and reluctance behind Occlumency shields and steeling himself for what’s inevitable. At least this time, it’s for the right side.

His inattention makes him run straight into Harry when he stops in his tracks.

“What – where’s Hagrid?” he asks, weirdly enough the first thing that comes to mind at the missing half-giant.

Harry stares at him, his eyes flashing with disbelief and vindictive satisfaction. “Tom Riddle was such an arrogant _arse_ , I can’t believe it. I know where it is!”

“What?” Regulus keeps a grip of Harry’s wrist and digs his heels into the floor. “Stop, what, _how?”_

Another crash makes them both flinch, and Regulus gives up his protest, running alongside Harry while he starts talking.

“It’s stupid, really, but I’m an idiot! There were those heads from the Gargoyles on the floor just now, they reminded me of something I saw in the Room of Requirements last year – sometimes, it’s the Room of Hidden Things. It’s full of stuff, and I had to hide my potions book – I told you about that, right? Anyway, there was this bust, and a tiara, and Tom Riddle is just fucking arrogant enough to believe that he’s the only one to find a room full of stuff that obviously proves otherwise. It’s also why model-students Dumbledore and Flitwick never found it and _fuck_ , I can’t believe I already had it in my bloody hand and – “

“Stop, Harry, you’re rambling,” Regulus interrupts, unable to suppress his amused smile. At Harry’s disbelieving glare, he raises his hands, one still holding Harry’s. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I just mean, save your breath.”

Harry throws him a sheepish grin, and fear and elation are so clear in his eyes that Regulus’ heart misses a beat. He can’t lose him; it shoots through his head louder than any of the sounds of the starting battle around them, and he drags Harry to a halt and against himself, burying his hands in his hair and kissing him harshly.

For a moment, everything around them falls away. There are only Harry’s arms wrapping around him, warm, chapped lips against his and the smell of fresh air, fire, and something that’s so unmistakeably _Harry_ that it makes him want to cry.

It doesn’t last nearly long enough.

“I love you,” he says, and then he says it again and again until he nearly believes that it’s enough to carry them through this.

When they pull apart, Harry’s eyes are too bright and he has to visibly pull himself together.

Regulus is sure that, any other time, there’d be some embarrassment for losing himself so thoroughly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

When they both have a grip on themselves, they link their fingers and set off again. The sounds of the battle suddenly seem louder, the spellfire from outside brighter, but they ignore it as best as they can until they finally reach the seventh-floor corridor.

They’re just turning a corner when they run into Ron and Hermione.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Harry shouts, and he looks like he’s conflicted between hexing and hugging them.

Regulus notices that both of them are carrying large, dirty-looking objects that are curved like fangs on which someone cast a strong _‘Engorgio_.’

“Chamber of Secrets,” Ron says with a grin that’s just on this side of smug.

Harry nearly stumbles over his own feet. “What – but, how? And why?”

Hermione starts on an explanation, while Regulus is unable to draw his eyes away from the fangs. The actual, real fangs of an actual, real Basilisk, that Harry fought when he was fucking 12.

He could really use a drink.

Only when Ron says that the cup is destroyed, and Harry tells them that they know where the diadem is, does he manage to shake himself out of it and follow the three of them into the room.

Tonks, Ginny, and an older woman are still there, looking up when they come in.

“Potter. Do you know where Neville is?” the woman asks, drawing herself up, and if that’s Neville’s grandmother, Regulus can see how she dealt with two or three Death Eaters easily.

“I think I saw him run past with a few Mandrakes, so he’s probably off fighting,” Harry says, and she nods proudly before she disappears.

“Can you two leave the room, just for a moment? We need to – do something,” Harry says, and the way Ginny’s eyes light up probably means that she’s been waiting for an excuse to do just that. Regulus remembers that she’s not 17 yet, and his stomach clenches at her eagerness to fight.

Tonks throws her a glance, but nods. “Do you know where Remus is?”

Harry tilts his head. “No idea, but – shouldn’t you be home with Teddy?”

She looks troubled but shakes her head. “It drove me up the walls, I just – my mum is looking after him until we’re back.”

There’s not much they can say to that, and they all leave the room together. Regulus doesn’t know if he’s imagining it due to the stark contrast to the quietness before, but it feels like the castle is shaking even worse, and the frequency of the crashes coming from the attacks on the wards seems faster.

“What about the elves?” Ron asks suddenly, his eyes wide. “They don’t know, do they? We have to warn them!”

Regulus is rather glad when Aberforth runs past just then, giving him a reason to ignore how Hermione throws her arms around Ron. Not that he has any room to talk.

“Did you see Remus?” Tonks shouts after Aberforth.

He stops briefly. “Last I saw him, he was duelling Dolohov,” he says, and with that, she runs off into the opposite direction.

Regulus turns back to Harry, who only shakes his head and then begins to pace in front of the stretch of wall where the door has melted away.

Ron and Hermione are still completely lost within each other when another door appears, and Harry huffs before pointedly clearing his throat. “Oi, can we get the Horcrux first? I’d leave you here if I wasn’t concerned for your safety, but some help would also be appreciated.”

The two of them break apart, slightly flushed and grinning sheepishly. “As if you two are so much better,” Hermione teases, but it’s fond and also nothing but the truth.

Harry obviously chooses not to deign that with an answer and simply pulls the door open. Regulus enters last and instantly stops in his tracks. “How in Merlin’s and Morgana’s name are we supposed to find _anything_ in here?”

“I know the vague direction,” Harry says with a grimace. “This way.”

They walk in silence through towers of discarded junk and furniture until they reach a tall cabinet. “Right, it has to be around here somewhere,” Harry mutters with a frown. “Should we split up?”

Regulus doesn’t like that idea at all and quickly shakes his head. “Let’s stay in pairs at least, just to be safe.”

Hermione agrees, and Harry gives in easily enough before describing the tiara and the bust on which he saw it last.

“I can’t believe he thought he was the only one who found this room. That’s just – outright _stupid_ , just look around,” Regulus sneers while he and Harry walk down a narrow aisle.

Harry grins and shrugs. “I wish I could say I’m surprised but – that’s the same man who gave me back my wand after he had me bound and defenceless. I gave up on trying to get behind that amount of arrogance, seriously.”

He only hums in response, and they keep walking in silence. It’s not that he doesn’t agree, but even after all these months with Harry, there’s still a part of Regulus that instinctively recoils from the blatant disrespect.

“Oh look, here it is!” Harry’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he stares up at the old-looking tiara, resting inconspicuously on top of an ugly bust.

Harry is just reaching up to grab it when someone clears their throat behind them, and they both whirl around, taking a step back at the same time. Three boys are standing there, two with such a resemblance to Crabbe and Goyle that Regulus instantly knows that this can only mean trouble.

At second glance, he recognises the third one as well as the son of Narcissa from Malfoy Manor.

“Look who we have here. The Dark Lord will reward us so greatly, won’t he?” the one on the left grins, and Regulus grits his teeth at the glee in his voice.

Malfoy doesn’t look as excited, but his sneer is still impressive when he says, “Not using my wand, Potter?”

A glance out of the corner of his eye shows him that Harry’s trying to etch closer to the diadem, but Regulus doesn’t dare to step in front of him. He’d rather avoid fighting in this cluttered room with Ron and Hermione out of earshot, but he doubts it will be possible.

“I prefer my own, thanks,” Harry says dryly. “Whose are you using, by the way?”

It’s an obvious attempt to buy time, but it also works. “My mothers,” Malfoy scoffs, his grip on the wand tightening visibly.

Harry laughs mirthlessly. “Too bad. I hope you don’t expect me to hand yours over, even you must be smarter than that.”

“It doesn’t matter!” the burly boy to the right interrupts, raising his wand. “We’re going to take you to the Dark Lord, and your friend with you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Regulus says with more calm than he feels; still, he is rather sure that between himself and Harry, they can manage those three. Crabbe and Goyle Senior were never particularly talented, and Malfoy doesn’t look like he’d be able to put up much of a fight.

“Shut up, you’re just a traitor,” Malfoy drawls, his eyes flicking to his two companions. “Remember that we can’t kill them.”

“That I am,” Regulus smirks, tilting his head in mocking consideration. “And between the two of us, who looks happier, huh?”

Malfoy’s face becomes even more pinched, especially when Harry snorts softly next to him. But even though this is kind of amusing, they don’t have the time. Unfortunately, either Crabbe or Goyle seem to share his thought.

The boy steps in front of Malfoy and raises his wand. “Now, you’ll come with us so we can hand you over. I’m pretty sure we’ll be the happier ones, then.”

Just then, Ron shouts from somewhere if everything’s alright, which is instantly followed by the other boy casting a ‘ _Descendo’_ at a tower of junk, causing Harry to shout.

Within seconds, spells are flying everywhere, the junk of decades raining down on them while Malfoy is screaming for Crabbe and Goyle not to kill them. His only answer is that he doesn’t get to order them around anymore, followed by Killing Curses that Regulus and Harry only avoid by throwing themselves to the ground.

Ron and Hermione come running but have to duck out of the way of another Killing Curse, though the distraction is enough for Harry to disarm Malfoy, and shortly after Ron or Hermione stun Goyle.

Regulus just thinks that it’s going to be fine when he hears an incantation that makes his blood freeze. Dragging Harry to his feet, he yells, “Run!” while hot, white flames are rushing through the room, licking at their ankles and already making it hard to breathe.

They don’t get a chance to decide where to run, the only thing they can do is dodging the fire and the debris that’s crashing down around them. It’s only the four of them, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy lost somewhere behind them, but they skid to a stop when they’re suddenly surrounded by animals made of flames on all side.

“Here!” Harry shouts over the roaring fire and throws them brooms.

Ron pulls Hermione on the back of his, and they take off as fast as possible into the direction where Regulus dearly hopes the door lies. A loud, terrified scream sounds over the flames, and Harry stops and turns immediately.

Because of course he does, and Regulus loves him for it, but he also agrees wholeheartedly when Ron shouts that he’s going to kill him if they die here.

It’s nearly impossible to breathe and the air is so thick with black smoke that it’s hard to see. There’s another scream though and he can make out Harry as he dives, and quickly angles his broom to follow. Malfoy and one of the two boys are standing on a pile of rubbish, the latter still unconscious, with flames already licking at their feet.

Somehow, Harry manages to pull Malfoy onto the back of his broom and help Regulus to manoeuvre the other one on the back of his.

“The diadem!” Harry shouts, but before he can dive, Regulus grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him along.

When Harry struggles, he tightens his grip. “This is Fiendfyre, it’ll destroy it anyway!”

For a moment, Harry stops fighting against his grip, but then he swerves out of his reach and dives downwards, grabbing the Diadem out of the air. Regulus swears that he’s going to curse him for this.

Finally, the door appears in front of them, and he urges the old broom to go faster. They land in a pile in the corridor, coughing and with tears streaming down their faces, but as soon as he can breathe again, he struggles to sit up and grabs Harry’s hand tightly. “You utter _idiot_ ,” he croaks, unable to put any heat behind the words.

“I had to make sure,” Harry says, his eyes apologetic. It’s not like he doesn’t understand, but he still refuses to let go of his hand while they make sure that Ron and Hermione are fine as well.

They’ve barely managed to get back to their feet and make sure that the diadem is, indeed, destroyed, when two of the Weasleys appear, duelling two Death Eaters.

He doesn’t catch the conversation between the two brothers, more focused on a rumble that seems to come from the wall to their left. It’s followed by another crash that shakes the whole castle, and he only just manages to throw up a Shield Charm around all of them.

The impact is still so strong that it throws them all against the opposite wall, dust and debris raining down on them. He barely makes sure that he’s unhurt before looking over at Harry, who’s slouched over with his arms wrapped around his head.

“I’m fine,” Harry croaks, carefully getting to his feet and already on his way over to the others.

“Merlin’s pants, whoever cast that Shield Charm just saved my life!” another voice exclaims, and Regulus hurries after Harry through the half-destroyed corridor.

Ron and Hermione are standing next to the two Weasleys that just duelled the Death Eaters who are now lying on the floor, unmoving. The younger one has an injury on his head and holds his arm against his chest, but there are huge chunks of stone lying all around him and he’s most likely right; he would have been dead without the Shield Charm.

“Who cast that?” the other brother asks, looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but when they all stay silent, they turn towards Regulus.

He sighs. “I did. I wasn’t sure it would work, but – “

Ron has pulled him into a crushing hug before he can go on, and he winces at the strength as well as the knowledge that he’ll probably never live that down. Not that he regrets it, of course, but he could do without the praise and gratitude.

“Watch out!” Harry shouts, dragging them both to the side and making them stumble while already casting Stunners.

When his eyes fall onto the Acromantula that’s fighting its way through the hole in the wall, he gets the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. There’s no time for dramatics though, and he quickly joins Ron and Harry in casting spells at the beast, thankfully managing to blast it right back while keeping an eye out to make sure that the other three are moving.

“Let’s get out of here!” Harry shouts, and they all start running down the corridor until Hermione pulls him, Harry, and Ron behind a tapestry.

They’re all panting and Regulus’ back hurts something fierce from the impact, but the noises of the raging battle are somewhat muted here, and he takes a few seconds to catch his breath and gather his thoughts.

“Harry, can you look into his mind?” Hermione says, her eyes betraying how much she hates to ask this. “We need to know where he is, so we can kill the snake.”

A sharp nod is her only answer before Harry closes his eyes, a crease appearing between his brows, and Regulus reaches out to take his hand. There were already way too many close calls this night, and it’s not even close to over.

It doesn’t take long until Harry opens his eyes again. “He’s in the Shrieking Shack with Lucius Malfoy, and just sent for Snape.”

“He’s not even fighting himself?” Ron exclaims, his voice furious, and while Regulus understands the sentiment, he’s rather glad that they ‘ _only’_ have to deal with Death Eaters right now.

Harry shrugs. “He’s sure I’ll come to him on my own, seeing that he knows we’re after the Horcruxes…”

Regulus winces; it’s not that unlikely, after all, and they have to if they want a chance to get rid of Nagini.

If Hermione’s and Ron’s expressions are anything to go by, they’re thinking the same and for a second, they stand in tense silence.

“Let’s put the cloak back on and use a Disillusionment Charm. Nobody will notice our feet with the chaos out there,” Harry eventually says, pulling out the silvery piece of fabric.

“You _can’t_ go!” Ron exclaims, his eyes wide. “It’s exactly what he thinks you’ll do, so I will!”

“No!” they all shout simultaneously, and it would be funny if the situation was any less serious.

Hermione shakes her head. “You two put it on and I – “

“No, don’t discuss this with me, Mione. I either go alone, or we all go together,” Harry cuts in. When they all stare at him stubbornly, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright. We need to get to the Whomping Willow, and everybody will expect me to be with you two, anyway, so we all use the cloak.”

Ron nods and nudges Hermione, and she seems to give in. After they’re all disillusioned, they shuffle around until they’re covered by the cloak as much as possible and step out from behind the tapestry.

The corridor they’re in is littered with rubble, the windows blasted out of their frames, and the air is filled with screams and shouts. It makes Regulus’ stomach clench and his grip on Harry instinctively tightens, but he pushes it away as best as he can.

Their way down to the entrance hall is slow-going, though they manage to take out a few Death Eaters along the way; they even save the young Malfoy boy a second time when they pass him, arguing with a Death Eater that he’s on their side but lost his wand.

It gets even worse when they arrive on the ground floor. Duels are raging everywhere; Neville and some others are throwing Venomous Tentaculas at Death Eaters which is surprisingly effective, and he can see Sirius and Remus in a duel with three men he’s unable to identify.

Every fibre of his being is screaming at him to rush off and help, and only Harry at his side keeps him from doing so, but neither of them holds back from shooting off spells occasionally when the opportunity presents itself.

They’re halfway through the hall when there’s a loud crash to their right, two bodies falling from somewhere above them, and Hermione lets out a furious scream. Only when her Stunner hits one of the two people in the back does he make out Greyback, and the unmoving girl he has been just attacking as the one who asked Harry earlier in the Room of Requirements who Regulus is.

Not even the sick feeling in his stomach gets time to manifest. Hordes of Acromantulas stream into the hall, attacking whoever gets in their way, and for a brief moment, Death Eaters and opponents alike have to focus on the beasts. That is, until Hagrid comes running, shouting to not harm them and nearly throwing himself between the wizards and witches and the huge spiders.

“Fucking hell,” Regulus mutters, and then he has to hold back Harry from doing the same when several of the Acromantulas grab Hagrid and run out of the castle with him.

There’s no time for respite; as soon as the Acromantulas retreat, Harry struggles so hard that they can do nothing but follow as he breaks out of Regulus’ grasp to run after the retreating spiders.

Regulus’ heart stops the moment Harry is nearly crushed by the foot of a giant. It’s like it just keeps getting worse and worse, but there’s no time to actually _think_ about it. They can only run and dodge, ducking out of the way of swinging clubs and wayward spells as they move into the direction of the forest.

They nearly run into Harry when he suddenly stops, and it takes Regulus a moment to understand why. It’s much colder suddenly, his breath coming out in white puffs, and fear and desperation are slowly outweighing the adrenaline and anger.

“Fuck! Expecto Patronum!” Harry shouts, but the feeble, white mist dissipates seconds later while the Dementors are drifting closer.

He tries again, and Regulus, Hermione, and Ron join his efforts, but neither of them manages to cast. The terror of the last few hours is spreading through him, the fear of losing any of the people he has come to love so much, the images of Hogwarts getting destroyed by Death Eaters and Acromantulas and giants, and it feels so hopeless and pointless, like they’re going to lose too much either way –

He staggers against Harry when three silver animals rush past them, only now realising how close the hundreds of Dementors already are to them when they’re pushed back, and he smiles weakly at Luna and the two other boys who just appeared out of nowhere.

“Come on, something happy,” Luna’s calm voice says, and Regulus closes his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of Harry next to him.

Harry’s voice breaks when he asks, “Something happy?” and it’s that what ignites a spark within him. If not for himself, he has to protect Harry and his friends; he has something worth fighting for, something he loves and people who love him in return.

“Expecto Patronum,” he casts again, and this time it works, even though it takes so much more effort than it did when they arrived in Hogsmeade. But the silver stag bursts from his wand, and shortly after, it’s followed by Harry’s own.

It finally drives the Dementors completely back into the forest, and he allows himself a brief smile at the symbolism, which only grows when Harry squeezes his hand.

The moment of peace is short-lived. A deafening roar sounds out of the darkness, and then there’s another giant storming towards them, his huge club swinging wildly, and they’re off running again.

Lights are flashing all around them, and Regulus tries to block out the sounds of battle as best as he can while rushing after Harry, only looking over his shoulders a few times to make sure that Ron and Hermione are still following.

When they finally reach the Whomping Willow, they’re all gasping for breath.

“How are we supposed to get past that?” he presses out, holding his sides and keeping a watch on their surroundings as well as the swiping branches.

“Good question. Last time we had Crookshanks,” Ron mutters, and Hermione answers something he doesn’t catch. It does seem to remind Ron of something, because he levitates a rock and knocks it against the trunk of the tree, freezing its movements.

He decides it’s not important enough to waste breath for and follows Harry down into a tunnel so low that it’s nearly easier to crawl. It seems to go on endlessly, but he’s not sure if that’s actually true or if exhaustion is simply starting to catch up with him.

When Harry finally comes to a halt, he gestures for them to be silent. Hermione presses the Invisibility Cloak into Regulus’ hand and points at Harry, who somehow manages to wrap it around himself.

There are fractures of sentences filtering down to them, but it’s impossible to make out more than what’s definitely Voldemort’s voice, and a man answering.

Harry seems to understand though, and so they wait for several, long minutes.

They all jump when a pained, terrible scream tears through the silence and Harry goes rigid in front of Regulus.

Suddenly, Harry starts moving and pulls himself up. Regulus has to use every ounce of self-restraint to not hold him back or storm after him, but it’s impossible to not move closer and watch what’s going on.

The shack is empty but for who appears to be Snape, lying on the ground with a lot of blood around him, and Harry, who has brushed off the cloak and is stepping closer.

Regulus grits his teeth and, after another look around, pulls himself up into the rundown room as well, followed by Ron and Hermione. They watch in silence as Harry bends over Snape and the man attempts to speak; Hermione is the first to understand the silvery-blue substance that’s leaking from the man himself, and quickly conjures a vial she hands to Harry.

When the small flask is full, Snape urges Harry to look at him, and seconds later, his grip on Harry’s jacket slackens and his hand falls to the floor.

“That was… weird,” Harry mutters, staring at the vial of memories, and then seems to shake himself out of it.

Before either of them can say anything, Voldemort’s voice echoes through the room and their heads again, making them all flinch. “You’ve fought bravely, but you have no chance to defy me. Harry Potter – you have let your friends fight and die for you without facing me yourself. I will pull back my forces for one hour, and I will wait for you in the Forbidden Forest. If you don’t come to me by yourself, I will join the fight, and not a single soul will be spared.”

Harry blanches besides him, but there’s a stubborn set to his jaw and his hands are clenched at his sides. “Let’s get back to the castle,” he says, his voice coiled tight like a spring, and he moves towards the tunnel.

“You know that it’s bullshit, right?” Ron says, a worried frown marring his features. “It’s not your fault, and you know that!”

Harry nods, the movement barely visible in the dim light of their wands, but it convinces none of them. Still, they move in silence until they reach the Whomping Willow again and hurry back to the castle.

The sudden stillness of the grounds seems eerie. Here and there, they can make out people moving in the darkness, carrying injured or dead people into the school. With every step they take, fear settles heavier on Regulus’ shoulders.

Even though there are not many people he’s close to, he dreads to find out how the fight has gone for them up until now, dreads to find out who has died, to see the damage caused without Voldemort even joining in in the first place.

When they step into the castle, it knocks the breath out of him. Most of the entrance hall is destroyed, parts of the stairs crumbled to the ground, windows blasted out of the walls, and the hour-glasses that used to represent the house points shattered. There’s so much blood on the ground, the scenery even more dreadful with the absence of people.

He instinctively reaches for Harry’s hand, who’s still pale and trembling slightly. They follow Ron and Hermione towards the Great Hall but stay in the doorway as the two of them rush off to Ron’s family.

Regulus lets his eyes wander through the huge room. The house tables have been pushed to the side, and there are injured people sitting and lying everywhere with others rushing around to treat them. He can make out Sirius at one end, leaning against a wall and pressing something against his chest.

At least he’s alive. The Weasleys seem to be complete as well , but eventually, he takes a breath and lets his eyes wander over the dead who are lain out in the middle of the hall.

For a moment, he sees Remus among them, until his mind catches up and he realises that he’s bend over his wife, lying still and unmoving on the ground. There are many others, a lot of them not looking like they’ve finished school yet, and nausea wells up within him as his vision goes blurry, his eyes burning.

He’s pulled out of his spiralling thoughts when Harry makes a horrible, strangled noise next to him, turns, and runs off. His feet follow before he comprehends completely what he’s doing, but he doesn’t try to stop him, simply follows, up the stairs and down corridors until they reach the Gargoyle that guards the headmaster’s office.

It jumps aside when Harry shouts, “Dumbledore!” at it, and they rush up the spiral staircase.

Only when they arrive in the circular office and Harry’s standing in the middle of it, panting and trembling, does Regulus approach him slowly, putting one hand on his shoulder and turning him around.

“I – it’s all – he’s right, it’s true, I’m – “ Harry croaks, his eyes wild and anguished as his hands clench into the front of Regulus’ jacket.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls him close slowly, leaving him enough time to pull back. But Harry goes willingly, burying his face into his shoulder while his shaking only gets worse.

Wrapping his arms around him, he closes his eyes and swallows against his desperation. “It’s not your fault,” he finally says quietly, when Harry has calmed down as much as he probably will.

Harry scoffs and pulls back to glare at him. “Of course it is! If we hadn’t come here, if I had just – “

“Harry,” he says firmly, shaking his head and letting his hands run up his arms to his face. “Just _think_ – we had to if we wanted a chance to ever put a stop to this. And you didn’t ask any of them to fight for you, we all chose to. It’s not that easy, but it’s also not – just – in the end, it’s not that much about you as Voldemort makes it out to be. I mean, do you think it’s going to stop with your death and turn into a civil democracy?”

“No, but – “

“Exactly. He would force everyone to swear their allegiance to him, and then, do you think it would simply be fine for those that resisted him up until now?” he goes on, ignoring the way his chest aches at the grief burning in Harry’s eyes.

Harry shakes his head mutely, his hands coming up to wrap around Regulus’ wrists.

“This is bigger than you, love. You’re not doing this out of selfishness, but to put an end to him once and for all. I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to be angry and sad and terrified, but don’t blame yourself,” he says, closing his eyes that are just starting to burn again.

Harry gives a small huff, leaning his head against Regulus’ chest. “Ron said something like that last year,” he mutters quietly.

Regulus hums. “Ron is smart, and a strategical thinker. Of course he’d understand that.”

“But – “

“No, no buts. I hate to put it so bluntly, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter if you’re alive or dead. A world in which Voldemort wins will always be horrible. And we have a much better chance at winning if you’re alive.”

There’s a bone-deep sigh, and Harry’s grip on him tightens before he lifts his head. “Okay, I can’t argue with that. Just – let’s watch those memories, yeah? It can’t be worse than any of this.”

He presses a brief kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth and nods. “Is there a Pensive here?”

Harry makes an affirmative noise but stays where he is for a moment longer, his arms tight around Regulus’ waist and his face pressed into his chest. There’s another deep sigh and then he steps back to get a Pensive out of one of the many cabinets, puts it on the desk, and pours the memories into it.

“Ready?” he asks when Regulus steps next to him, and at his nod, they both lean forward.

It takes him a moment to orientate himself, but he soon realises that they’re at a Muggle playground, a boy in ragged, unfitting clothes watching two girls on the swings.

He stays back while the first few memories play out, showing Snape and Lily Evans as children and becoming friends, the growing distance between them as they start school – though he does think to himself that Snape always had a rather creepy manner about him. Not to mention that he understands Lily’s anger at the company he kept.

His feeling of contempt only grows when Snape begs Dumbledore to keep her safe, obviously not caring about James Potter or Harry. He does not consider himself remotely close to being in touch with his morals, but loathing a child because of who his father is, seems rather disgusting to him.

It’s a weird feeling, to agree with Albus Dumbledore of all people.

Harry’s expression is conflicted throughout the memories. There’s obvious confusion about the purpose, longing for his mother that makes Regulus’ throat constrict, and contempt that seems to lessen with each passing memory.

Regulus stays close to him, a silent presence at his side, and only pays closer attention to the actual content again when the memories start to be of more recent times. Of Dumbledore’s blackened hand and Draco Malfoy’s task to kill him, and how Dumbledore makes Snape promise that he will be the one to do the deed.

The next memory is of Dumbledore and Snape walking over the grounds of Hogwarts at twilight, with Snape asking questions about what Dumbledore is telling Harry in their numerous meetings, and why he is not trusted with that kind of knowledge.

An uncomfortable, heavy weight settles in Regulus’ stomach when Dumbledore says how talking about Harry’s and Voldemort’s minds means to talk about their souls, a suspicion he has repressed for a few weeks now flaring back to life.

Dumbledore orders Snape to come to his office that night. Once there, he tells Snape that there will come a time when Voldemort keeps his snake close, and how then it will be important for Harry to know.

To know that, the night Voldemort attempted to kill him, a piece of his fractured soul broke off and attached itself to Harry’s. That Voldemort can’t die as long as Harry lives, and how they’ve protected him to teach and raise him, to let him test his strength. That he’s sure that when the time comes, Harry will have arranged things so that when he dies, Voldemort will be truly mortal.

Blood is rushing in Regulus’ ears and he’s swaying on his feet, the remaining memories of brief explanations for things that happened over the last months a mere blur he couldn’t care less about.

Somehow, through the panic and the hate and the desperation, he still catches the terrified expression on Harry’s face, moments before they’re spit out of the Pensive, and he pulls on the last, frail remains of his composure. He can’t be the one to lose it now, he _can’t_. 

It’s ironic, but if anyone understands how it is to decide if you should walk to your own death, it’s probably him, and he’s not going to make this decision harder on Harry if he can help it.

They tumble out of the Pensive and drop to the floor, and Harry’s chest is heaving with the force of his breathing, his hand reaching for Regulus before he rolls around and buries his face in his chest. His body is heaving with silent sobs, and Regulus presses his face into his hair and gives up on keeping his tears back.

“I – I have to die,” Harry croaks, his voice breaking over the words, and Regulus wants to tell him that he doesn’t, that they can take the cloak and leave the castle and the country and fuck everyone.

He doesn’t.

Harry pulls back to stare at him, his eyes oh so terrified while his fingers clench into the fabric of Regulus’ jumper. “Tell me not to go,” he pleads. “Tell me I don’t have to, _tell me to stay._ ”

Regulus closes his eyes and carefully loosens Harry’s grip to link their fingers together. “You don’t have to. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want me to stop you, I will. But – “ He swallows, his throat burning and his heart racing, and he doesn’t want to say this, doesn’t think that he can humanely survive this, but he grits his teeth and forces the words out. “But I don’t think you want me to.”

“I don’t want to die, I want to – I want to play that Seeker game with you we always talked about, to travel to that place in France where you fell out of a tree. I – I want to – get my NEWT’s and become anything but an Auror, I – it’s not fair! Why, _why_ did he never tell me, how can he – why – Regulus, I don’t want to die!” Harry sobs, his whole body shaking violently while his hands clench around Regulus’ so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Everything within him screams to give in; to tell Harry to stay, to plead with him not to go, to argue and to fight, to not let him out of this room.

He doesn’t.

“If you want to run, you know I’d come with you, right? Anywhere,” he says instead, sitting up and pulling Harry with him. “I – I can’t tell you to go. But I can’t tell you to stay either.”

Harry takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, his shoulders shaking while he slowly calms down ever so slightly. Finally, he meets Regulus’ eyes again. “I have to. We both know that I have to.”

And even though he knew, knew from the moment the confirmation of what he has suspected for weeks left Dumbledore’s mouth, it still tears something within him apart.

“I know,” he says quietly, because he does. “I don’t want you to, but I know.”

Harry nods slowly, and they stare at each other for long moments before Harry sighs and pulls them both to their feet, only to wrap his arms around Regulus tightly.

“Promise me – “ Harry’s voice breaks again, but he obviously forces himself to go on. “Promise me to not do anything stupid. You have to – please, don’t – “

“I won’t,” he whispers, and he knows it’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter anymore now, does it?

The resignation in Harry’s eyes when he looks at him tells him that he knows, too, but he doesn’t call him out on it. “Take care of Sirius, will you? And – and tell them…”

Regulus closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together, tries to submit the feeling of Harry against him to memory, to make sure he won’t forget, and presses their lips together.

“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, you made all this – it was all so much more bearable with you and – “ Harry chokes again, still trembling, and his lips taste like salt and goodbye and Regulus can’t take it anymore. If Harry doesn’t go now, he’ll break down and beg him to stay.

He doesn’t.

“I love you, Harry, don’t you ever forget it.”

Another deep breath, another harsh kiss that tastes like sorrow and devotion wrapped into one, and then Harry breaks away from him and, with one last look, wraps the cloak around himself and vanishes from sight.

The door to the office clicks with soft finality, and Regulus’ wand is in his hand before he knows what he’s doing, spell after spell wrecking the deceptively still office. Glass-cases and portraits splinter apart, bookshelves and the desk getting decimated to nothing more than dust, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.

How can it all look so normal when nothing is? A part of him is still screaming at him to run after Harry, to stop him, that there’s still time; though he should have known, really.

It was all too good to be true – surviving the cave, making up with Sirius, finding someone who loves him despite all the things he has done, despite who he is; someone so utterly good and well-matched for him. Ridiculous, to believe he could make it out of this war without losing more than he can possibly handle.

He doesn’t stop until the office is reduced to splinters of wood and glass, but it doesn’t come even remotely close to diminishing the sensation of agony.

There’s nothing for it though. There’s still Nagini to kill, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get his revenge, at last. It’s not over yet, and even though he’d rather walk to his death three times over than explaining to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione what’s going on, there’s no use in hiding out here to sulk.

Walking through the empty corridors feels like moving through cotton wool, and he can’t bring himself to enter the Great Hall. Instead, he leaves the castle and leans against a wall, looking over the dark grounds, hidden from view by the shadows.

There are a few people moving around, still carrying others into the school, and he’s not sure if he actually feels the faraway-presence of Dementors or if that’s just him. It doesn’t matter.

When he eventually hears cheers coming from the forest, a numb coldness has settled deep within his bones, and he straightens, wand tightly in his hand. Watching as the moving group of dark figures draws closer, he taps it against his leg impatiently, ignoring all the people that are coming out of the school to see what the noise is about.

Only when he sees Harry, lying limp in Hagrid’s arms, and Voldemort declares, “Harry Potter is dead!” does he realise that there’s still been a part of him that hoped for something, _anything_. He should have known better, but he has to bite his lips so harshly that it instantly draws blood to not join Sirius and McGonagall in their anguished screams.

They’re joined by others, he can make out Ron and Hermione and Ginny, but he stays where he is. He’s not sure if he believes himself that it’s strategical, a way to wait for the best moment to strike Nagini and then Voldemort, or if the thought of facing this up close is already enough to nearly make him crumble, but it’s not like any of this matters.

The decision is made for him when Voldemort claims that Harry tried to run. The Silencing Charm he cast over them is useless, but Regulus doesn’t spare it any thought as he steps forward and snarls. “You’re a liar, you always were! Stupid on top of it, as it seems, because who would _possibly_ believe that Harry Potter ran from you?” he spits, and he doesn’t raise his voice, but it echoes over the empty courtyard.

“Regulus Black,” Voldemort hisses, narrowed eyes settling on him, and he thinks that he should be afraid, wary at least, but he only manages a hollow laugh. “I would have expected _you_ to run. There never was any courage to be found in you.”

“Oh yes, I know. The younger brother, the useless one, nothing but a name to show for,” he says with a dismissive gesture, taking another few steps forward. “Quite amusing how things change, isn’t it? Not to mention that it’s rather ironic, to hold speeches about courage when you’re the biggest coward of them all, isn’t it _, my Lord_?”

“How dare – “

“Oh, _do_ shut up!” he snaps, anger flaring up within him. He still doesn’t look at Harry’s still form, deposited at Voldemort’s feet at his request. “Afraid of death, of your name – of your oh-so-devoted followers finding out that you’re a half-blood. Afraid of a 17-year-old, not even – afraid of a baby! Merlin, but I’m glad that I saw reason eventually, you’re such a pathetic excuse for a wizard!”

Voldemort’s face contorts in fury and his Killing Curse misses Regulus by merely an inch. He thinks that someone is shouting his name, but he doesn’t care, _it doesn’t matter_ , because what else is he supposed to do? The only thing left is to at least protect his brother, and Ron and Hermione, and he was prepared for his death once already – at least he might be able to take the bastard down with him for real, this time.

“Did you know that it was I who discovered your secret first?” he taunts, smirking at the flash of fear crossing those red eyes he was once so terrified of. “Oh yes, Salazar’s locket. Quite pretty until I destroyed it, I have to admit, but to cite Harry – you’ve always been way too arrogant.”

Before Voldemort can answer, there’s the sound of a hundred footsteps coming from the direction of the forest. At the same time, a loud, deep voice shouts ‘ _Hagrid!’_ which is answered by several of Voldemort’s giants surging at the source. Arrows start raining down on the ranks of Death Eaters, but Regulus’ eyes are fixed on Nagini, unprotected, and he laughs again.

The incantation of Fiendfyre is more familiar than it should be, and he pours everything into the spell; the hate, the anger, the grief, and the hopelessness. There’s only grim satisfaction as it devours the snake and the few Death Eaters who weren’t paying attention, and for the fraction of a second, he considers letting it run its course, to just tear everything down and then himself.

“Reggie,” a voice says from behind him, a warm hand landing on his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, forces the spell back under his control until the flames grow smaller and finally extinguish.

He doesn’t get time to thank Sirius, the giants still running rampant on the courtyard, and everyone is pouring back into the castle. Sirius doesn’t let go of him, one hand steady on his arm while the other is casting, striking down Death Eaters in their way and occasionally pulling Regulus out of harm's way.

It’s pure chaos. Centaurs and Death Eaters and Order and DA members, and just as they’re entering the Great Hall, he spots Kreacher, leading the house-elves into the fight with knives and speers, shouting to fight in Regulus’ name.

He tries to orientate himself, but there’s Harry’s still form etched into the forefront of his mind, and the Fiendfyre cost him so much strength that his hands are trembling so badly that he can barely cast straight.

Not even the fact that the Death Eaters are falling one by one under the onslaught distracts him from Voldemort, now in the centre of the hall, duelling Slughorn, McGonagall, and Kingsley.

At least Sirius seems as set on the target as Regulus is. The expression on his face is downright terrifying, pain and cold fury etched into every line, and they push and shove their way through the throng of people.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bellatrix fall and that, at least, gives him a short burst of vindictive satisfaction, even as Voldemort screams in blind fury. His spell never reaches Molly Weasley who Regulus would’ve never expected to be able to take down his mad cousin.

Both he and Sirius stagger to a sudden halt when Harry appears out of nowhere. He’s sure he must be hallucinating, that his mind has finally snapped, but Harry is all calm confidence and burning determination, and he just knows that he wouldn’t be able to produce this picture right now.

The hall is silent, but Regulus is unable to process most of the things said between Harry and Voldemort as they circle each other. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can barely breathe, and only Sirius’ iron-grip on his arm keeps him rooted to the spot.

There are fractures of sentences, of sacrifices and protection, of love and loyalty and allegiances of people and wands, but Regulus can only stare at Harry, calmly explaining to Voldemort how he lost. Harry, with dirt smudged over his face and his clothes torn, but his eyes oh so bright and _alive_ , as he gives the man who has tormented him for all his life one last chance at remorse.

It’s a quiet, horrified ‘ _No_ ,’ that leaves him the second both of them cast, the second of possibility that the Killing Curse bursting from Voldemort’s wand will hit its target after all, that despite everything, he will lose what he was sure was already gone.

He doesn’t.

Voldemort’s final fall is mundane, simple, a dull thud as the body hits the floor and Harry catches the wand. It’s only Sirius holding him upright, and he thinks absently that it’s true the other way around, too.

They watch, their arms wrapped around each other, as people rush forwards, until Sirius scoffs. “Idiots, as if that’s what he wants right now. Come on, let’s get him out of there.”

It finally breaks the tight knot in Regulus’ chest, and a slow, disbelieving laugh bubbles out of him, at the same time that tears start burning in his eyes. He only just manages to grab Sirius before he storms off to fight his way through the cheering crowd.

Sirius glares at him, but Regulus shakes his head. “Soronus, use a fucking – “ he chokes out, shaking his head and leaning against his brother more heavily.

“Right,” Sirius mutters, then points his wand at his throat and, after casting the spell, clears it pointedly. “If you don’t let my godson through to me _right fucking now_ , you will all wish Voldemort didn’t just die. Leave him in peace, for fuck’s sake!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the hall and making several people jump and whirl around.

Regulus rolls the eyes. “Too early,” he mutters, but it’s mostly for the sake of it. People are slowly moving out of the way, and he lets Sirius drag him along, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and still struggling to believe that this is real.

Harry meets them halfway and throws his arms around both of them. Regulus never wants to let go again.

“You – you fucking – how could you, I thought –“ Sirius rambles, and even though it mirrors Regulus’ feelings rather well, he elbows him into the side.

Harry is laughing wetly, somewhat mixed with sobs, and repeating that he’s sorry, over and over until Regulus tells him to shut up.

“Just – never do that again, yeah?” he adds when they finally all pull back, though neither of them really can let go just yet.

Harry smiles softly and leans his head against his shoulder. “Not planning to.”

“Good. Let’s find Ron and Hermione and get out of here – I know they all feel like hailing you in praise but I’d prefer some calm, and maybe a sandwich if Kreacher is up to it,” Sirius says, and that’s probably the best thing Regulus has heard in what feels like days.

They take Harry between them, and if he was any less tired, it would amuse him to no end how the people around them scramble to make room for them. Ron and Hermione meet them at the doors, and they look as wrecked as Regulus feels, smiling and crying and hugging them all.

“Let’s go to Grimmauld’s,” Sirius says, and Kreacher appears in front of them without being called.

Another weight lifts off his shoulders at seeing his oldest friend alive and well.

They spend an hour in the kitchen with tea and sandwiches, Harry telling them about what happened in the forest, his conversation with Dumbledore which elicits a rather strong rant from Sirius and Regulus, and how he realised that he was the master of the Elder wand. It’s a mad story, and it fits Harry all too well.

Ron is shocked when he hears that Harry wants to give the wand up, but Regulus understands; not because he thinks like Hermione, necessarily, but more of a general wariness of something this powerful.

Still, if someone can handle it, it would be Harry. “You shouldn’t put it back into the grave,” he says, and quickly shakes his head when Harry frowns. “I’m not saying you should _use_ it, but – we just learned that it would be enough for you to be disarmed, and you announced the story to everyone there. Keep it here, or somewhere else nobody knows of. It has less potential for trouble.”

Harry groans and buries his head in Regulus’ shoulder. “I hate that you always have to be right.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he deadpans, relaxing against Harry, and smiling at the laughter around the table.

“Hm yes,” Harry murmurs, his voice becoming heavy with sleep. “You’re nearly as bad as Hermione, but I love you anyway.”

When they finally lie in bed, wrapped around each other and barely able to keep their eyes open, Regulus remembers what he thought earlier in Dumbledore’s office, how he shouldn’t have expected to get away with it all.

Somehow, he did manage it, and what’s more, the expectation of the other shoe to drop is blissfully absent. There’s just Harry, warm and solid against him, breathing deeply. There are Sirius, Ron, and Hermione in the house, just as safe, and he thinks he would go through all of it again, as long as he only has this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, and that's it. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. If you did, Kudos & Comments are greatly appreciated. <3 
> 
> I did consider writing an Epilogue but, quite frankly, time and motivation were a bit scarce, and it felt like a good point to end things. If you want to know how I see their future: Regulus, Harry, Sirius, Hermione, and Ron renovate Grimmauld Place and live their with Remus and Teddy. Harry plays professional Quidditch, Regulus gets a job in the Department of Mysteries where he works with Runes and can nerd around, they travel a lot, and are happy. Maybe when Harry retires and Regulus gets sick of getting needled by his colleagues how he time-travelled, they finally accept McGonagall's offer to teach Flying and Runes at Hogwarts. 
> 
> Sirius does Curse Breaking or something like that, and he and Regulus use the weight of the Black name to support Hermione's political goals. Ron works with Fred and George in the shop, or maybe he becomes an Auror. 
> 
> Basically, they're happy. Maybe Harry and Regulus marry, drunk off their arses, in Vegas if that's what you want for them. <3 
> 
> Oh also - they all get some therapy. Hermione makes them because let's be real, they all desperately need it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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